Enigma
by Kes Cross
Summary: A terrorist threat to the heart of LA forces a new era in inter-agency co-operation, but a race against the clock leaves a trail of devastation and double-crosses. Sequal to OffGrid and The Past is a Distant Land. Reviews greatly appreciated. Ta.
1. Bliss Interrupted

Chapter one

Disclaimer

Okay then, after the _shortest hiatus in the history of hiatusssssessssesssss, _(hiatus? Hiati? Who the hell cares?) we're BACK! That's what happens when the muse gets its own laptop and gets all over-excited…

Aaaaaaaaaaanyhoo, the usual disclaimers apply for this story as they did for all the others. I don't own anything to do with Numb3rs, I don't have any control over the characters, I don't GET BLOODY PAID for this and hey, tis all just a bit of fun, right?

I DO, however, STILL own the rights to Diane Armstrong, Micky Cox, Danny Smith and the whole kit and caboodle story and I'll beat anyone who says otherwise to death with the soggy end of a severed limb.

Usual warnings apply for bad language, violence and unintelligible Cockney rhyming slang.

About all that beating to death with the soggy end of a severed limb, by the way. I'm actually a really nice person. No, honestly. I like kittens and everyfink…

Roll credits…

* * *

The red and white striped barrier lifted and the armed guard waved the white van through. Slowly, the van trundled through the checkpoint, the dark haired driver waving his thanks to the guard. The swish of windscreen wipers added an underlying rhythm to the persistent drumming of the rain on the roof of the cab. The guard, squinting against the driving rain, watched the van slowly disappear onto the base and ducked back inside the hut. "Filthy day."

"You think this is bad? You wait till you get out to Kabul. You'll be _praying _for fucking rain once you hit a hundred and twenty degrees, buddy!"

"Yeah? Well, right now, all I want is a smoke. Cover for me."

"Those things'll kill ya, ya know."

"Really? Well hey, here's a thing, soldier. It's alright for you, my friend. You've just got back. You're gonna be safe and warm in your mama's bed for the next six months! Me? I'm shipping out in five days to the worst fuckin' hellhole on God's sweet earth, surrounded by Taliban insurgents who wanna blow my goddamn head off. Ya honestly think I'm gonna worry about one lousy cigarette, Brett? Now, ya gonna cover me or not?"

"Sure. Just don't get caught."

"That's what 'cover me' is supposed to mean, asshole!"

"Up yours, Toynbe!" Brett stuck a finger up and grinned broadly.

"Back at ya, dickweed!" Toynbe ducked out of the hut and, checking quickly that nobody was looking, he scuttled around the back of the hut and cupped his hands around a cigarette, fighting a loosing battle against the raindrops that threatened to turn it into mush.

The white van drove sedately along the spotlessly clean, broad boulevard that ran through the centre of Fort Irwin. Turning left into a smaller road, the driver eased the van towards a squat, solid looking building. The small windows had thick iron bars on them and a single sign stencilled onto the steel door was all that distinguished the building from its neighbours. The Armoury. The van trundled to a stop outside the door and the engine coughed and died. Three men exited the front cab, all dressed in plain blue overalls and baseball caps. The guard at the armoury door raised a hand and asked for their credentials, gesturing impatiently for them to hand the documents over. He scanned them quickly and nodded, opening the door and stepping aside to let the men in.

The armoury was dimly lit and stank of gun cleaner. A strange, metallic tang tainted the air and the sharp smell of cordite made the hairs in the men's nostrils twitch. They approached the quartermaster's desk.

"Guys. What can I do for you?"

"Requisition order. O'Neil's Demolition. I think you're expecting us?"

The quartermaster straightened up and studied the three men. Two looked back at him levelly but the third man…hiding in the background… The quartermaster frowned and his eyes lingered for just a couple of seconds on the edgy man. For an instant, their gazes locked and the old soldier could sense something else behind the darting, dark brown eyes. He snapped his attention back to the leader and held out a hand. "Requisition?"

"Two cases of dynamite. Charging cord, fuses, detonators. It's all there." The man held the order out. For a second, the quartermaster stared at the piece of paper, looking at it as if it were contaminated. He took the order and scanned its contents. He took a few extra seconds reading through the credentials. Something wasn't right. He couldn't put his finger on it. Maybe it was nothing, but…

"Okay. Wait here." He turned and walked into his office, still studying the piece of paper. Glancing back at the men, he pushed the door closed and crossed to his desk. His hand reached for the phone…

Two muffled shots crackled dully, their sound dampened even further by the thick walls. The quartermaster was dead before he knew it, a trickle of blood running down from the hole in his skull between his eyes. Another red stain spread slowly through the fabric of his shirt, turning the olive green of the material a dull red-brown across his chest. He slumped forward, falling against the corner of the desk and pulling the phone down onto the floor with him. His fingers still grasped the handset in one hand and the requisition order in the other.

The leader reached down and ripped the requisition order from the dead man's fingers, tearing it in two. He stood up quickly, stuffing the torn piece into his pocket and pushing his silenced pistol into the front of his overalls. He bent back over the man and ripped the bunch of keys that hung from a chain on his belt free. He tossed the keys to one of the other men. "Ninety seconds. Move."

The two other men peeled off and ran into the armoury. They knew exactly what they wanted. The leader watched a stopwatch intently. "Sixty seconds!" A flurry of activity saw the men put together a pile of cases containing automatic weapons, grenades, fuses, explosives and ammunition in the centre of the floor. Not pausing for breath or to check what they had, they sprinted back into the armoury a second, third, fourth time. Each trip garnered more bounty. "THIRTY SECONDS!" A last dash into the depths of the dark corridors and they were back, this time carrying two long cases.

While the two men were busy with their cases, the leader, the stopwatch still clutched in his hand, sprinted to the right wall of the office. He reached into his overalls and pulled out two blocks of C4, a detonator pressed firmly into the soft, putty-like explosive. He slapped it against the wall and set the detonator…

A quick, last glance at the stopwatch and he stood up quickly.

"TIME!" The man stopped the stopwatch and sprinted for the door. He wrenched it open and grabbed the guard by the neck, dragging him inside the building and out of sight, choking off any chance he had to shout in alarm. A blade slid between his ribs and straight into his heart. For a split second he felt the cold metal slicing into his body. Then nothing. The man let the guard's lifeless body fall to the ground and stepped over it, shoving the corpse out of the way with a firm kick. He ran out and slid open the side door of the van he had so conveniently parked so close to the door. He spun on his heels and held his hands out. A crate came through the door and he deftly caught it, loading it quickly into the van. Within seconds, the team had the entire contents of their raid in the van. The third man leapt into the interior with the crates and slid the door closed. The leader and his partner jumped quickly into the front, starting the engine before the doors were shut. As he leapt into the driver's seat, a crumpled piece of paper fluttered from his pocket and was blown across the tarmac…

The van reversed quickly up the road and spun around ninety degrees, the front of the hood pointing towards the main gate. The side of the van slid open and the dark eyed man kneeled in the opening, pointing the snub nose of an RPG straight at the side wall of the armoury. The leader smiled nastily. "Time for the diversion…"

The RPG let out a whoosh and spiralled its way towards the armoury wall. From this range, the powerful rocket punched easily through the cinderblock outer shell and buried itself into the reinforced concrete guts of the wall. At precisely the same moment, the C4 on the other side of the wall detonated, the combined explosion enough to blow the wall to pieces and set of a chain reaction of blasts throughout the armoury. Not only had the men been taking something out - they'd also been leaving something behind. A snake of fuse cord had set off a series of explosions in the heart of the armoury, triggering off small but deadly packages of C4 in the middle of a building full of explosives. The 'diversion' could be seen and heard for miles around…

The van's engine gunned and it shot forward towards the gate. Before Toynbe had a chance to throw his cigarette down and swing his automatic rifle up, the van was on top of them. The driver pointed a machine pistol out of the window and Toynbe felt the bullets cut across his body. Blood filled his mouth and he fell back, dead…

Inside the wooden hut, Brett just had time to stand up and reach for his gun before the rapid fire of the machine pistol punched bullets through the thin wooden shell of the building and into his chest. He didn't have a chance…

The van screamed into a ninety-degree slide and out onto the main strip, barrelling through the traffic at breakneck speed. Behind the fleeing van, the base was in chaos. Explosion after explosion ripped through the armoury, keeping everyone ducking and running for cover. Alarms screamed and armed soldiers, filled with confusion and panic, yelled instructions at each other.

Most of the soldiers had been back from Afghanistan for just two weeks.

They were _supposed _to have been safe…

3333333

Colby Granger groaned and reached across the bed. The hollow dip where Diane had lain was empty, the warmth of her body already dissipating from the sheets in the chilly dawn air. Opening one green eye, Colby looked at the empty pillow, the indent from where her head had been still evident in the crisp, white cotton. He sat up groggily, rubbing his eyes. The smell of fresh coffee wafted in from the kitchen and he swung his legs around onto the edge of the bed, the cool stone tiles strangely soothing on the soles of his feet. Stretching lazily and scratching absentmindedly at his short, blonde hair, he stood up and shuffled out to the kitchen, drawn instinctively by the aroma of fresh Java.

His sensitive hearing picked up the gentle tap of fingers dancing quickly across a keyboard. Diane was already up and working. Trying to pinpoint the origin of the sound, he poured a second cup and went in search of the Englishwoman. He found her on the veranda of the beach house, a laptop resting on her knees and the ocean breeze ruffling the still-short auburn hair on her head. "Hey." He sat down on the step next to her and held out the coffee.

"You're up then."

"Nope. I'm actually a figment of your imagination and this is all just a terrible dream." Colby grinned broadly at her and she shook her head, laughing.

"You really shouldn't attempt sarcasm when you've only just woken up, you know. You suck at it first thing in the morning."

"That's not what you said last night, baby!" Colby playfully nuzzled at her neck and nipped the skin on her shoulder with his teeth.

"Ow! You bugger!" Diane laughed and smacked him on the back of the head. "No biting!"

"And again, that's not what you…"

"Colby!"

Granger grinned at her and kissed her gently on the lips. "So. Whatchya doin'?" He peered over her shoulder at the laptop screen, but she shut it quickly with a snap. "Oh. Hey. Sorry. Official stuff?"

"Um, no. Not exactly."

Colby raised an eyebrow. "_Un_official? You _freelancing_, baby? Langley doesn't really approve of its operatives hiring their skills out to third parties, ya know. Conflict of interests and all that. Did you not read your contract?"

"It's nothing to do with work. It's…it's personal."

"Okay, so now I'm intrigued." Colby grinned at her. "C'mon, tell me."

"You can be _very _annoying sometimes, you know that?"

"Honey, I haven't even _started _to be annoying! This is me being charming and interested. You want I should do annoying?" The mischievous grin broadened and he took a deep, dramatic breath in…"Tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me…"

"Shut up."

"I can do this all day."

"This an interrogation technique you learned in Langley? Because it's intensely irritating…"

"That's the whole point! Tell me, tell me, tell…"

Diane scowled. "Oh, for the _love of God _will you SHUT UP! Okay! Okay! I'll tell you!" She stared at Colby who was smirking back at her triumphantly. "But you have to promise not to laugh. I…" Diane looked deeply embarrassed and cleared her throat, taking a sip of the coffee. "I write fiction, okay?"

Colby's eyes widened and he grinned broadly at her. "By _fiction, _you don't mean…" He grinned again and waggled his eyebrows at her.

"What? NO! Dear _God_, Granger! You have the morals of a fucking alley cat!"

"It would've been kinda hot if you'd said yes, though." He ducked the slap she aimed at the back of his head but she got him on the backswing. "_What? _OW! Hey!"

"You _so _deserved that, you filthy little tyke!"

"What in the _hell _is a tyke?"

"Under the dictionary definition they've got a picture of _you!" _Diane scowled at him, but he could see the corners of her mouth twitch with mirth. Colby laughed merrily and put a comforting arm around her shoulders. A wave of contentment flowed through him as he felt her shift into the embrace. Sitting on the steps of the beach house with the white sand and the deep blue of the Pacific Ocean stretched in front of them, and the soft breeze, warming with every passing second, blowing the clean smell of salt air deep into his lungs…

He felt completely at peace for the first time in years.

"So come on then, beautiful. Whatchya writin'?"

"You haven't promised."

"I promise I won't laugh."

"You laughed at that picture of me in my regimental dress."

"That was different. I mean, that was a _lot _of dress." He kissed her again. "But I did say you looked every inch the officer, remember?"

"Alright then. But you _dare _laugh…"

"Dee, for God's sake! I promise! I _won't laugh_!"

"You're already smirking!"

"Just _tell _me, already!"

"Alright. I…I write murder mystery stories." Colby stared at her for what seemed like an eternity, his pale green eyes wide with amused surprise. Diane sighed. "There. I've told you. Go on then. Laugh. I can see you want to."

Colby could barely suppress the giggles that threatened to break free. "What, you mean like Sherlock Holmes and that?"

"No. I mean like…like Agatha Christie. I'm a fan. _I write Agatha Christie fan fiction, okay_?" She paused. "Especially Poirot."

That did it for Colby. He couldn't stop himself any longer and burst into peels of merry laughter. "Oh, man, you're _serious_? What, _really_? I say old chap, jolly good show and all that?" Colby rocked back on the step, laughing heartily. "Oh, baby, that is _priceless_!" He held on to his side, still laughing. "Seriously, it hurts!" He wiped a tear from his eye and looked at her, still grinning broadly and chuckling happily.

"Piss off, Granger!" Diane scowled darkly at Colby, who merely started laughing again.

"No seriously, Dee, I think it's great you have a hobby!" The end of the sentence merged into a fresh peel of laughter from Colby. "Honestly!"

"You promised you wouldn't laugh."

"I know, but…" Colby giggled once more and wrapped his arms around her, ignoring her petulant, playful resistance to the embrace. He pulled her onto his lap and cuddled her gently. "It was just so unexpected, baby. Is all." He kissed her again and smiled. Diane's frown suddenly transformed into a bright laugh and she kissed him back on the lips.

"Guess it is a bit weird, huh?"

"Just, not what I would expect, darling, seriously. I had you down more as a, I dunno, Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels kinda girl, ya know?" He smiled gently at her.

"Kudos for naming a British film there, CJ!"

"Gary made me sit though it a few years ago. I didn't understand one, single goddamn freakin' word of it."

It was Diane's turn to laugh. "We'll rent it again and I'll translate for you, how's that?"

"Fine, but I'm still intrigued by this whole Agatha Christie thing you've got goin' on." With one arm still wound around her back, he picked up his coffee and took a mouthful.

"Nothing to tell."

"Bull."

"I just happen to like Agatha Christie novels, okay?"

"Yeah, I like Gary Cooper films but that doesn't mean I write _fan fiction _about it!"

"Gary Cooper didn't solve the murder on the Orient Express, pal."

"Granted, but it was in the what, nineteen twenties? Thirties?"

"Nineteen thirty four."

"Exactly. We've kinda moved on in modern detective work since then. I mean, how did you even get into Agatha Christie?"

"Downtime in the barracks. What, you think I read bleedin' _skin mags_, Granger? I know I was always considered as 'one of the lads' but not to _that _extent, love!"

Colby nodded. He knew how boring down time in camp could be. Although any soldier was glad of the break from the constant pressure of battle, thirteen months in a tent got pretty damn dull after a while. He'd chosen chess. Diane, apparently, had chosen classic crime literature…"Fair play. But what in the hell got you _writing _it?"

Diane shifted on his lap and looped an arm around his neck, relaxing into his embrace. "I dunno. Guess I've always been pretty good at languages, I mean, I speak seven. But I was pretty good at English at school too. Dunno. Just…just always enjoyed writing I suppose."

"So you gonna let me read 'em?"

"Um, how about _no_?"

"Awww, c'mon!"

"I said no!"

"Why not?"

"Because you'll laugh."

"I promise I won't."

"Yeah, like you did earlier? Because _that _worked out well, didn't it?"

"That was merely a shock reaction. That's my defence and I'm sticking with it." Colby grinned at her.

"You know what they say about the man who defends himself has a fool for a client."

"I just wanna read it!"

"Why are you obsessing about this?"

"If I admitted to you that I wrote nineteen twenties murder mystery stories…"

"Nineteen _thirties_. If yer gonna mock, at least be historically accurate, buddy..."

"Okay, okay then, nineteen _thirties _murder mystery stories, wouldn't _you _be intrigued and wanna see?" He cocked a quizzical eyebrow at her.

"Yeah, suppose your right."

"Cool."

"Yer still not seeing 'em!"

"Awwwww, c'_mon_!"

"No!" Diane laughed and locked Colby in a passionate kiss that took his breath away. She finally broke the kiss and stared deep into his eyes, gently smiling at him.

Colby smiled back. "Wow. What was _that _for? Not that I'm _complainin' _or anythin' here, but…" She kissed him again, stopping him in mid-sentence.

"It wasn't _for_ anything, Colby. I was just trying to _shut you up_!" She grinned mischievously at him and slipped off his lap. "Surf's up."

"What?"

She pointed at the ocean. "Coming?" With a playful wink, she trotted into the house, bending down and ruffling his short hair as she danced past him.

Colby watched her disappear inside and then looked out over the breaking surf of the ocean. This was what he'd always wanted with Diane. To just be together. No worries hanging over their heads, nobody trying to kill them, set them up, frame them, blow them up or otherwise try and generally ruin their day. To just laugh with each other. This moment. Right now. _Perfect_…

He smiled to himself and got up, scooping up the abandoned coffee cups. Stretching his back as he climbed the top step, he wandered into the house behind the woman he loved…

Inside the house, Diane stood, her arms crossed in front of her, staring at the television. She didn't turn as Colby walked in. "I think you better see this, love." She pressed a button on the remote, turning the sound up. Behind the reporter's vacuous words, a scene of carnage and devastation could be seen from an aerial camera. A building was a roaring inferno, explosion after explosion powerful enough to make the camera picture jump, even from hundreds of feet above. Colby moved and stood silently next to Diane, disbelief in his eyes. The caption said Fort Irwin.

"Jesus…"

"Guess the surfing's out then." Diane turned and tossed the remote control onto the sofa. She walked back into the bedroom and turned, holding her hand up. "Five, four, three…" she counted down on her fingers and as she reached two, both their cell-phones rang urgently. "Blimey. Didn't even get to one…" She shrugged and turned back, disappearing into the bedroom. She reappeared briefly and tossed Colby's ringing cell-phone to him. He caught it deftly and snapped it open.

"Hey Don. Yeah, I've seen it. I'm on my way." He snapped the phone shut just in time to catch his clothes as they were tossed towards him by a semi-naked Diane. "Wanna ride?"

"Nope. They want me at CT. Stat."

"Okay. You get anything…"

"Don't worry, I'll call you later." She disappeared back into the bedroom to finish dressing. Colby dragged his clothes on quickly and sat on the arm of the sofa lacing his boots. Diane emerged, fully clothed and pushing a gun into her waist holster. She grabbed a jacket and keys and quickly cupped her hand around the back of Colby's neck. He responded to her lingering kiss, stroking back a stray wisp of hair from her cheek. "Keep your head down, Colby."

"Stay safe." He smiled briefly and stood up. This was their life. Brief moments of bliss interspersed and interrupted by the real, brutal, savage world…

33333333

"Hey Col. Waddya say?" Don slammed the driver door of the SUV shut and walked towards Granger. Around him was a scene of utter devastation. The Armoury was a smouldering wreck. Firefighters were still damping down and the entire quadrant was crawling with agents.

"Hey Don." Colby looked up and nodded to his boss. "No prizes for guessing what went boom." He nodded towards the blackened shell of a building and raised his eyebrows. "They took out the gatepost as well. Four confirmed dead, seventeen injured."

"Jesus." Don puffed out his cheeks and pushed his baseball cap back on his head. "Guess we're lucky there weren't more killed, huh."

"Luck doesn't even come into it, Don. We're pulling all the CCTV footage but obviously anything from the Armoury itself is toast."

"So why are we here?"

"It's an all agencies, Don. The military aren't happy about it, but it's got terrorism written all over it so that puts it in our ballpark." Colby shrugged and sighed.

"What about CT?"

"Diane got the call same time you called me. She's gone straight to the Agency."

"We got anything else?"

"Not yet, but forensics are all over it." Colby glanced down at his notebook and a flicker of white caught his eye. He looked at the floor and saw a crumpled piece of paper on the floor. Frowning, he bent down and picked it up. Don watched him a small smile on his lips. Colby's reputation as a neat-freak was an office joke…

"You on trash duty, Col?"

"When have you ever seen trash on a military base?" Colby straightened up and studied the piece of paper. "Especially trash…with traces of blood on it?" He held the piece of paper up carefully, his gloved fingers just holding the corner of the torn fragment, and raised an eyebrow at his boss…

TBC…


	2. First and Foremost a Soldier

Disclaimer

OK. It's official. There will be _no _dancing girls, trumpets or fancy sets for season 3. I've had a word with the accountants (the spawn of lawyers and really dull mathematicians _not _of the Charlie Eppes variety) and they've said nope, no extravagant intros, disclaimers or other attention-grabbing tactics are budgeted for this time around. Bugger. Bugger, bugger, _bugger…_

So, bearing in mind that this is a 'credit-crunch' season and that there will be no fancy bells and whistles, the following disclaimer applies to keep the lawyers happy and prevent further depletion of budgets as the result of law suits. I have no rights/ownership/control over the superb cast of Numb3rs. That belongs to someone with far more financial resources/more powerful lawyers than me. I DO, though, own the characters of Diane Armstrong, Micky Cox, Danny Smith and this 'ere story. And it'll be a case of full-contact combat Scrabble with anyone who says otherwise, okay? And I've got a triple word score already on xylophone, so yer on a hiding to nothing from the get-go, crystal?

On a personal note, apologies for the delay in updating. This has been due to a massive influx of paying writing work and a job offer, so sorry, but real life took precedence.

Usual warning for violence, swearing and Cockney rhyming slang applies.

Right then. On with the story (and nope, no 'mushy stuff', I promise…)

* * *

"So they've managed to get a couple of shots of the van off the CCTV cameras on the base. Guess what? Licence plate? Came back stolen." Nikki Betancourt tossed the buff file down on her boss's desk and stood back, her arms folded across her chest and a look of resigned frustration on her face.

"Guess that was a given. Anything else?"

"Granger's working on that piece of paper he found at the scene. Just waiting on forensics to get back to us on it, although I dunno what they hope to get from a piece of trash that Granger's got a _hunch _might be important." Nikki shifted her weight and frowned. "We looking at terrorism here, Don?"

Don looked up at the newest member of his team. Nikki had ruffled feathers within the team from day one, but she showed passion and promise and he was willing to forgive certain traits of her abrasive personality to try and nurture the more positive aspects he knew lay underneath. But he still had trouble hiding his annoyance when her cocky attitude burst to the surface all too regularly. "Um, well, let's think about this Nikki, shall we? We've got four dead soldiers and seventeen injured and the armoury of one of the most highly guarded military bases on the West Coast turned into a smouldering ruin. Waddya _you _think?"

Nikki smirked and nodded. "Yeah. Guess that was a pretty dumb question."

"Ask smarter questions, Nikki." Don smiled briefly. "And as for Colby's hunch, as you put it, well the guy's usually on the money. So let's just wait and see what he comes up with, huh?"

Nikki shrugged. "Yeah, well when I was with LAPD, we tended to go on evidence, not hunches."

"And that's why you should always wait until the forensics are in before you dismiss anything, Nik." Colby grinned at her as she spun around.

"Damn it Granger, you move quiet for a big guy!"

"Keeps people on their toes." Colby ignored the younger woman and nodded to Don, holding out a file. "Report from forensics. Traces of blood on the corner of that piece of paper were from the quartermaster. We managed to get a partial off the other corner, but it's smudged to hell and back. Any chance Charlie's algorithms could clean it up?"

Don nodded and took the file. "Sure, I'll get him and Amita to run it through. Anything else?"

"The paper's part of a requisition order from a civilian contractor. O'Neil's Demolition."

"Phoney, of course."

Colby shook his head. "You'd think, wouldn't you? No, that's the weird bit, Don. O'Neil's is a genuine firm, based out in the valley. They do fairly regular recs from Fort Irwin."

Don looked surprised. "You serious?"

"Yep. Best way to make a lie convincing is to throw in a grain of truth with it. Anyway, thought I'd go check it out."

"Good. Take Nikki with you." Don noticed the subconscious flinch from Nikki and frowned. Granger and Betancourt hadn't exactly clashed from the beginning, but they hadn't exactly gelled, either. But with David away for another couple of days on hostage negotiation training, he didn't have any options. He was short-handed at exactly the wrong time – when they were looking at a possible major terrorist alert. Colby had been right. An 'all agencies' had gone out after the attack on the armoury. Everyone was nervous, edgy. He'd already requested that David's training be cut short. He needed every ounce of experience he could muster on this one. And right now? The only experienced agent he had was Colby. Liz Warner was in Denver on a major drugs bust and Megan had resigned. The Gods of law enforcement were trying his patience to the limits…

"Will do." Colby's professionalism masked any sentiments he might have had about having a junior agent tag along. The girl had to learn. Whether she would or not remained to be seen…

Nikki pursed her lips and nodded. "I'll get my jacket." She turned without another word and walked back to her desk. Don watched her and then turned to Colby.

"Waddya think of her?"

"Nikki?" Colby shrugged. "She's…yeah. She's fine."

"C'mon, Col! That's just you being diplomatic."

"Don, look. Remember what I was like when I first started?"

"Yeah. A complete hot head who damn near got himself and his partner killed by an irate, Vietnamese biker gang!"

"Um, yeah, thanks for that, Don." Colby grinned. "I was bustin' my ass trying to prove myself to you and David. Hence my, as you put it, hot headed approach to things. Guess she's just trying to do the same."

"Yeah, but you think she's tryin' too hard?"

"Probably. But would you rather she didn't?" Colby raised an eyebrow. "You rather she just sat back and coasted?"

"Nah, you're right. Just…and I can't believe I'm sayin' this to you of all people, Col, seriously, but just try keeping her on a bit of a tight leash, okay? I don't want her goin' in assuming things like she normally does."

Colby chuckled quietly and nodded. "Gotchya." He glanced over his shoulder to where Nikki stood waiting, her foot tapping impatiently. "Looks like Cinders wants to go to the ball, bud."

Don laughed and waved a dismissive hand at Granger. "Better escort her to her coach then, Buttons!"

Colby stared at his boss in mock affrontment and sighed. "Okay. But she asks me to stop at any shops selling glass slippers and the answer's a no, right?" His face split into a genuine, warm smile and he turned away.

Don watched him team up with Nikki and the two agents walked to the elevator. It was good to see Colby back on a more level footing. He was back to his old self again – relaxed, laid back and with none of the explosive anger that had caused Don such concern over the last few months. The psyche evaluation reports had been much better recently, although Don suspected that it would be a very long time before Colby had worked through all the issues that caused him such inner turmoil. He knew the man had been through something terrible in his past – something that he never talked about with anyone, not even David. His relationship with Diane seemed to have stabilised into something approximating normalcy. If you could call two of the best military intelligence officers the allied forces had had in years teaming up _normal_…

Don turned to the file Colby had left with him and picked up the phone. Time to talk to Charlie…

333333333

Colby joined the rat race of traffic heading out of Downtown and towards the valley. A beautiful day belied the nagging sense of urgency that was bothering him. Driving on autopilot, he let his mind wander back to the crime scene last night. Something wasn't right…

"Did you hear a word I just said to you, Granger?" Nikki frowned at her partner.

"Sorry, what?"

"I said, what kinda dumbassed terrorist uses a genuine requisition order to blow up an armoury?"

"The kinda dumbassed terrorist who probably thought he'd cleaned up properly after him. It's the little things that give us away, Nikki."

"What's this, Zen and the art of investigation, Granger? You some kinda Buddhist, all of a sudden?"

Colby looked genuinely confused for a moment. "What?"

"Just that you seem to be taking this pretty calmly. I know how touchy you get when it's anything to do with the military."

"You've known me for three _weeks_, Nikki. How could you possibly know how I feel?"

"Common sense, Granger. You're an ex-Jarhead. Military base gets hit, fellow soldiers die. Just thought you'd be a bit more…ya know. _Animated _about things."

"Okay, firstly? Jarheads are Marines, and by the way, only _they _have the right to call themselves that, right? I was a Ranger. And yeah, you're right. I _am _upset about the fact that a military base got hit. Especially considering that a lot of the guys hurt had just got back from Afghanistan and were _supposed _to be safe, Nikki. But just because I ain't goin' around kicking in doors and bustin' heads doesn't mean I don't care, got it? Before you start kickin' in doors, it helps to know exactly _which _doors to kick, yeah?" Colby's eyes flashed angrily and there was a sharp edge to his voice. Nikki sat back in the passenger seat and stared out of the window. An awkward silence descended…

"Look, Granger, I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean…"

"I know you didn't. Just…look. Just let me take the lead on this, okay?"

"Sure."

They drove on in silence…

3333333

"Yeah, we had a requisition order filled from Irwin. But that was three weeks ago. Two cases of dynamite and a box of blasting caps. Standard stuff. We had a building in Santa Monica to drop." The man rested his hands on the counter and stared at the two FBI agents. Feds made him nervous. If they knew about his background, there was a damn good chance he'd get pulled in and then it would start all over again. He had a mortgage to pay. His kid needed dental work. If these Feds started digging too deep he could lose everything…

"So you haven't had any requisition orders since then? Say in the last twenty four hours?"

"I told you. No. Everything's listed here on computer."

"Mind if we take a look?" Nikki didn't wait to be told and moved around to the computer.

"Hey! You need a warrant for that, right?"

"Not if we've got reasonable suspicion that you're holding back on us, we don't." Her fingers hovered over the keys…

"Actually _Nikki_? I think we've got everything we need right about now, don't you?" Colby's voice was sharp and direct. Nikki paused and looked at Granger, who silently shook his head. She stepped away from the computer and sighed. The man watched the exchange between the two agents and inwardly smiled. "We're gonna need to see your records for the past six months, oh, and your employment records too." Colby jotted down a couple of notes in his pad and looked up. The man facing him had paled. "Is that a problem?"

"What? Um, no, no problem. No problem at all." Colby noticed a slight twitch in the man's eye and the fingers resting on the bench had tensed. Granger kept his face totally neutral and snapped his notebook closed, pushing it into his pocket.

"Great."

"Once you get back here with a _warrant_, that is."

Colby frowned. "Excuse me?"

"Warrant, buddy. No warrant? No records."

"You're kinda defensive all of a sudden here, my friend."

"Just don't like you people coming in here thinking you can just bust into personal files without a warrant _or _spouting some bullshit crap about _reasonable suspicion_."

Nikki started to open her mouth to speak but Colby jumped in quickly. "Okay, sir, your call. We'll be back later. Thank you for your co-operation." The last words were heavy with sarcasm. He turned and beckoned sharply to Nikki, not waiting for her to acknowledge his signal. Nikki stared hard at the now-sweating man and followed Colby towards the car. She fell into step alongside Colby and snapped angrily.

"What in the hell was all that about?"

"Get in the car."

"But…"

"Get in the _damn car_, Nikki! Nervous guy in there is still watching us." Colby didn't break his stride. He reached the car and climbed in. Starting the engine, he barely waited long enough for Nikki to climb into the passenger seat before driving off. Nikki was thrown back against the seat and she puffed angrily.

"Granger…"

Colby swung the car into an alleyway and stopped. From here they had a clear line of sight of the only exit to O'Neil's yard. He ignored an indignant Nikki and watched the entrance to the yard like a hawk searching for prey…

"Okay. What the _hell_?"

Colby turned to her, his green eyes flashing with annoyance. "You were outta line in there, Nikki. Way outta line. We do not go in demanding access to computer records without a warrant, shoving people around and generally _pissing them off_!" He held up a hand before she could answer. "Get on the phone. Get everything you can about our friend in there. Background check, the full works."

"Another one of your _hunches_, Granger?"

"How about you just do what you're told for once, huh?" Colby ignored her outraged stare and refocused his attention on the entrance. "And you'd better do it now, Nikki. Our guy's rabbiting."

"What?" Nikki followed Colby's gaze. "Oh _man_..." The man they had just been talking to was getting into a car with a cell-phone pressed to one ear, talking urgently and animatedly into the mouthpiece…

Nikki frowned and pulled out her cell-phone. She spoke quickly into the mouthpiece. "Agent Betancourt. I need a run-down on a Michael Joseph King. O'Neil's Demolition." She waited, listening intently as the agent on the other end of the phone gave her a potted history of Michael Joseph King. Eventually she snapped the phone shut. "Seems you were right. Nervous guy's got a wrap sheet as long as your arm." She turned to Colby, a serious look on her face. "We have him listed as a person of interest."

"Because?"

"Political affiliations with an extremist group in Nebraska. Never proven, but still…"

"And there's your reasonable suspicion, Nikki." Colby grinned darkly and started the engine. He watched King pull out of the yard and waited until he had a short lead before pulling out into the traffic and dropping into a standard following pattern. "Let's see where this person of interest leads us, shall we?"

Nikki settled back into the passenger seat. Reflecting back on the last few minutes, she realised that Colby was right. Sometimes, it helps to know _which _doors to kick in before you started going all Rambo on people's asses…

33333333

Michael King pulled off the main highway and onto a dirt track alleyway between two dilapidated warehouses. Broken windows and piles of trash gave the whole area a sense of urban decay that was almost apocalyptic in appearance. This was a rough neighbourhood filled with gang bangers, pimps and those whom the system had either let down or forgotten about entirely. It was a police-free zone and he relaxed a little. That FBI agent had been too intense. He was sure that the big man had suspected something, but luckily his hot headed female partner had blown their one shot at getting anything from him there and then. His righteous indignation and the demand for a warrant had been the breathing space he'd needed. The FBI agent had been suspicious. Maybe he'd been a little _too _pissy with the guy? King was sweating. He had to talk to Seb before things really turned nasty. Seb could fix things. He could access the computer and doctor the records before the FBI's warrant came through. King was covering his arse. He had too much to lose, too much to hide…

King rolled to a stop next to a side door and climbed out of the car. He glanced around nervously – it didn't pay to spend too long standing out here. He quickly pulled at the tatty door, ignoring the crumbling paint that flaked off as the rusty hinges protested noisily and the door jerked open. He ducked inside and pulled the door closed behind him.

Colby frowned. He pulled out his A1 sidearm and checked it quickly. Nikki looked at him and then at the building. "You're not thinking about going in there without back up, are you?"

"Waddya think _you _are? A ride-along?" He grabbed a kevlar vest from the back and threw it on over his shirt. He might be about to go in to a potentially dangerous situation without the back up his senses screamed was absolutely essential, but he wasn't _stupid_. There was no way he was going in there without a vest on, and he knew that back up was only moments away. If he waited, he'd lose any advantage he might gain from finding out exactly what King was hiding. Every fibre in his body told him that the attack on the armoury was just the tip of an iceberg. A very big, very dangerous iceberg. He was desperate to know what that iceberg was. Nikki's comment about him being surprisingly calm about the whole affair was more on the money than she had realised.

In the same way that Nikki would pull out all the stops to hunt down a cop killer, he would do the same for the attack on his own comrades in arms. Granger was totally loyal to the FBI team that he felt privileged to be able to also call his friends. But no matter what else he'd been in his life – agent, spy, simple G-man – Colby Granger was first and foremost a soldier. He'd been in the same situations that those men who had died at the base had lived through, only to be slaughtered in their home country by the people they had been trying to defeat overseas. He'd seen the horrors they had witnessed in the shattered remains of a once-proud civilisation. He'd also felt that same exhilaration and sense relief they had felt once they'd touched back down on home soil. The relief that he and the men at the base had made it through the hell of a war being fought on very brutal terms. That they were – _finally_ – safe.

And then, in one, horrific split second they had been reminded that the RPGs that had pounded into their compound over there were now doing the same to them _again _in a _supposedly safe_ environment…

It angered Colby beyond words.

He opened the door. "Radio our position. Code red it, I want everything they've got here _right now. _ And put a damn vest on." He shut the car door quietly and trotted up the alleyway. Nikki barked their position through to dispatch and followed him, struggling into the unwieldy bullet-proof vest, her gun already in her hand as she caught up. Colby was already at the door, scanning the building expertly, looking for any hint of trouble. Nikki could feel her heart pounding in her chest. Even after four years in the LAPD and comprehensive training at Quantico, she still felt nervous going into situations like this…

The door protested again as Colby carefully pulled it open and ducked inside the darkened building. Nikki was a step behind him, covering his back. The corridor led in both directions and thick dust covered every surface. Granger glanced down and saw what he wanted to see – tiny disturbances in the dust on the floor. King's passing had left a clear trail of footprints on the dirty vinyl floor tiles. He pointed down and Nikki followed his gaze. "Better than breadcrumbs." Colby flashed a grin at his partner and started down the corridor to the right, scanning constantly for any sign of movement or any sound that would tell him where his quarry had gone. The corridor led into a large open space filled with the detritus of a failed business that had gone bust years before. The gloom of the deserted warehouse was full of shadows, capable of hiding a whole damn army unseen. The hairs on the back of Colby's neck started to prickle…

He held a fist up and Nikki stopped dead behind him. A slight movement at the back of the room caught Colby's attention and he indicated to Nikki to circle around to his left. She moved silently alongside him, her eyes scanning the room in a sweeper pattern.

The trouble was, she didn't look up…

Kings body fell silently through the air and landed right in front of her. The shock of the sudden explosion of movement and sound directly in front of her caused her to let out a short scream of surprise and flinch backwards.

Colby immediately spun to his left to check on his partner. Within a split second, he'd established that she was okay and immediately looked up to the walkway above.

Straight into the barrel of a Glock…

"GUN!" Colby shoved Nikki hard, sending her sprawling behind a stack of boxes, out of sight of the sniper above their heads. As he landed on his back he brought the nose of his A1 swinging up and fired, feeling the recoil punch back through his arm and into his shoulder. The muzzle flash and explosion as the bullet screamed out of the barrel echoed around the warehouse and was immediately followed by a second. Nikki heard the double-tap. She knew instinctively that it was Colby's gun – she may have only known him three weeks but the training session he'd given her on the pistol range had told her a lot about his shooting technique. Colby always double tapped. She could see him in front of her, lying on his back, his knees bent and shoulders off the floor, focusing on an unseen target directly above him. She aimed up and fired at the same spot, hoping that her shot found its mark…

But then in those brief microseconds, there was a fourth shot. From above, straight at Colby. Nikki fired again, using the Glock's muzzle flash to target her shot. The sound of running feet on the metal floor of the walkway echoed across the warehouse. Nikki stood up, still looking at the walkway with her gun raised in both hands above her shoulders. She glanced towards Colby, expecting to see him on his feet and already running.

He wasn't.

Colby lay still, splayed out on the filthy floor like a discarded rag doll.

"COLBY!" Nikki immediately forgot about their unseen assailant. She sprinted to the prone man's side and slid to a halt, dropping to her knees and immediately feeling for a pulse.

Colby groaned and his eyes flickered open. "_FUCK!"_

"You okay?" Panic was still twisting Nikki's guts into guts as she supported Colby's head and shoulders.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." Colby's voice was hoarse and he groaned again. He glanced down at the bullet-proof vest he'd put on. The copper gleam of a disfigured bullet poked out from the webbing that covered the kevlar plating. "Who invented kevlar? I'm gonna send the guy a thank you letter!" He swore passionately and let Nikki help him to his feet. He straightened up carefully. The vest may have stopped the bullet, but it wouldn't stop the colourful bruise he knew he would be sporting on his chest for a week or so.

"You sure you're okay Granger?"

"I feel like I've been kicked by a horse, but yeah. I'm fine." He shrugged off her hand and stared at the body of King. "Shit. We really screwed this one up."

"If I hadn't've gone off at the guy, none of this would've happened." Nikki's voice was low and filled with bitter remorse. Colby looked at her. The woman was beating herself up over the death of the only possible lead they had. He knew Don would take both of them to task over this – Nikki for screwing up the initial interrogation and him for letting her do it. Colby also knew he was also going to catch some serious heat for going into a potentially deadly ambush situation without waiting for back up. They'd both made mistakes. And it had cost one man his life and very nearly killed Granger too. Colby put a gentle, reassuring hand on Nikki's shoulder.

"We couldn't've stopped King dying, Nikki. What we have to do now is make sure we catch the son of a bitch who did it and tried to plug me as well. Okay?"

Nikki nodded and stood staring sadly at the bloody body of King as Colby made the difficult phone call to his boss…

3333333333

Don turned sharply as the elevator doors pinged open. He saw the dejected figures of Colby and Nikki exit the lift and walk into the bullpen. Colby's eyes caught Don's and immediately Don could see the apology in the big man's gaze. He glared at Colby and pointed angrily at interrogation room two, walking quickly to intercept them. As he followed Colby into the room he suddenly turned and put a hand up. "Not you." He slammed the door shut on Nikki and she stood for a second, staring at the grey surface, guilt filling her as she realised that Don was laying the blame for the utter disaster of the operation squarely at the feet of Colby…

Inside the room, Don spun around and stared furiously at Colby. "Colby, what the _hell_?"

Colby leaned back against the edge of the table, his head bowed. "We screwed up."

"Damn _straight _you screwed up! What the _hell were you thinking_?"

"I…"

"No, save it, Colby. What was it? Huh? The red mist come down again?" Don paced angrily. "I expect that kinda crap from Nikki, not _you_! All that crap earlier? About Nikki being a hothead? Yeah, _there _speaks the voice of fucking _experience, Colby!" _

"Don, I'm sorry."

"Yeah, I _bet _you fucking are!" Don stopped pacing abruptly and stared at Granger. "You okay?"

"Yeah. I'm fine. A bit bruised, is all."

"You're damn lucky you didn't get your fucking _head _blown off, Col!"

"I know."

"If you knew, why'd the hell you go _in _there in the first fucking place?" Colby didn't answer. Don ran a hand through his short, dark hair and sighed in expiration. He walked up to Colby and stood in front of him, his voice dropping. "I don't want you making mistakes like that, Colby. You're better than that. You understand?"

"Don, I'm…"

"_Do you understand_?"

"Yes."

"Good." Don turned away and paced across the room. "So what made King run?"

"As soon he knew we wanted to take a look at the employment records, he spooked. The guy had something to hide, something he was worried we were gonna find out. My guess is that those computer records have already been sabotaged. Even if we do get a warrant, and him getting himself killed is gonna make that a _whole _bunch easier, I don't know if we're gonna find anything. If whoever King was meeting has access to that computer, it's gonna get wiped cleaner than a baby's ass." Colby sighed and sat back on the table. "It was a fuck up from start to finish. I'm sorry, Don."

"Don't be sorry. Just make it right, Col. Whatever it takes." Colby looked at his boss and Don returned the stare. "Your gut said right from the start that there's something big behind this, right?" Colby nodded. "OK. So we salvage whatever we can from this fuck-up and go back to the beginning. Any word back from the army?"

"No. The armoury was completely destroyed. They've no way of knowing what was taken because there's nothing left to do an inventory on." Colby frowned. "You know, Don, that armoury shouldn't have gone up like that."

"What do you mean?"

Colby sat up. "Armouries are built specifically to house explosives and weapons. They build them like firework factories, Don. Reinforced walls, lightweight roofing, so if there is an explosion the blast is focused upwards, rather than sideways. It causes less damage. The rooms inside are deliberately small so that damage is kept to a minimum. Trust me buddy, it takes a damn sight more than one RPG to make a whole damn armoury go critical. That rocket should've taken out the main office and one, maybe two rooms max." He frowned again. "The amount of damage isn't proportional to the explosive force of the rocket on its own."

"Jesus, Colby, you're starting to sound like my brother!"

"Whoa. Really?" Colby grinned briefly at his boss. "Who knew that stuff rubs off on you? Anyhoo, what I'm saying is…"

"That they didn't just take stuff out of the armoury…"

"Yeah, exactly. They put stuff in. They knew exactly how to lay a series of charges to take that building apart from the inside out. That's the only way they could've done that kinda damage that quickly. That's the sort of knowledge…"

"…That a demolition worker would have." Don finished Colby's sentence and nodded. "So O'Neil's is our primary connection. I want that place pulled apart. Background checks on everyone ever employed by the damn place. Get Nikki on those. You're with me." He walked to the door and paused. Turning, he looked at Colby seriously. "Don't ever let me down like that again, Col. I'm relying on you. David's not back for another twenty four hours and Nikki? Well, it's pretty damn obvious she's got a _lot _of learning to do real quick. So you're my go to guy on this. I need you _focused_, Col. Okay?"

"Go easy on Nikki, Don. It was my mistake."

"A mistake you _don't _repeat, clear?"

"Crystal." Colby pushed himself off the desk and followed Don out of the room…

3333333333

Colby sat down at his desk for a moment to try and get his head together, zoning out the background noise of the bullpen. He sighed deeply and leaned back in the chair, rubbing his eyes and trying to push aside the feeling of guilt at letting Don down. The best thing to do now was exactly what Don had said. Put it right. Whatever it took. His cell-phone buzzed on the desk and he sat forward, picking up the phone and flipping it open. "Granger."

"_Captain Granger? This is Colonel Mark Thomas. You are to report to Fort Bragg for immediate re-enlistment and deployment. A courier is on the way with your papers and instructions."_

Colby sat stunned, the colour draining from his face. "Is this some kinda_ joke_?"

"_No, Captain. This is __**not **__a joke. Colby, we need your…specialist skills. It'll only be a short term operation. A few days tops. Needless to say, Captain, that this is classified, you understand?"_

"I'm in the middle of a _fucking _terrorist situation here, Colonel!"

"_We are fully aware of that situation, Captain. Believe me, the two are not unconnected. That is precisely why we're calling you. As I said. Your specialist knowledge is an important part of this particular operation. Your superiors at the FBI are being informed of the situation now. You will receive a full briefing at Fort Bragg. And Colby?_"

"Sir?"

"_Can I suggest that in future you moderate your language to superior officers? I know you Delta Force boys tend to play a little fast and loose with the finer points of the Army handbook, but a little respect now and then is no bad thing, don't you think?"_

Colby's fingers tightened around the phone and his reply was hissed through gritted teeth. "_Yes_, sir…" He closed the phone slowly, a sense of dread filling him…

_**TBC….**_


	3. Orders Received

Disclaimer

I do not own Numb3rs, the characters or the concept yada yada.

OK, so, here's the thing.

Normally, you get a pisspoor attempt at a funny disclaimer from me. HOWEVER, this time, it's different.

As you may know, CBS in their wisdom have decided to cut the current season six run of Numb3rs from 22 episodes to 16. This does not bode well for the future of Numb3rs, so the fans have mobilised, prompted by a call from Rob Morrow to help save the show. If you want to voice your opinion of this dumbassed decision, please write a letter, explaining how much you love Numb3rs, how much it has influenced your thinking etc and asking the network to reconsider the decision to:

Nina Tassler

President, CBS Entertainment

4024 Radford Ave., Room 3118

Studio City, CA 91604

USA

There is also an online petition at petitionsonline dot com (Save Numb3rs from Oblivion) as well as a host of other sites at MySpace/Twitter/Facebook/LJ all supporting the 'Save Numb3rs' campaign. Please add your voice/signature to the campaign and help us save the show. Thank you.

Right.

Back to the disclaimer: Usual warning for violence/bad language/unintelligible Cockney rhyming slang applies.

* * *

Don quietly closed the door of the new deputy director's office and leaned against the wall, rubbing a hand over his face. _Shit_. The last thing he had wanted to hear was that he was losing Colby for some goddamn secret squirrel mission with the army. The deputy director had assured him that it would only be for a few days, and that Colby would return to the team as soon as his deployment was over. But Don had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that told him things were never that clear cut…

The bullpen was the usual mass of organised chaos as he walked through the lift doors and back towards his desk. As he rounded the corner, his eyes locked with Colby's. The big man looked utterly forlorn and shaken to the core. Don nodded towards interview room one and Colby lethargically pushed himself off the corner of the desk he had been perching on, his movements slow, subdued and full of trepidation. He avoided eye contact with anyone else in the office and followed his boss into the tranquillity of the interview room, shutting the door softly behind him.

"Col…"

"There's nothing I can do, Don." Colby's voice was quiet, full of resignation and despair.

"I know." Don put a hand on his friend's shoulder. "I know, bud." His grip tightened on the man's shoulder. He felt like he was saying goodbye to his friend for the last time. He knew that this was the last thing that either of them had wanted or planned for. Colby had finally got himself back on an even keel after months of stress and worry. He had seen his old friend return over the last few months – the old, relaxed, laid back but utterly efficient agent he had come to love like a brother and trust as a friend. Now, the army had smashed its way back into Colby Granger's life without so much as a by your leave and thrown him back into a pit of espionage, danger and possibly even death. Don was furious. Not at Colby, but at those who seemed to think that they could play randomly with the man's life like some kind of puppet. It brought it home to him how tenuous their so-called organised lives actually were – how things could change in a heartbeat…He held up his other hand to stop Colby from replying. "Look, I know you can't talk about it, Col. And seriously? The army's timing _sucks_ out loud. The last thing I need right now is to be another man down. Especially one of my best men." There was a silence between them for what seemed like hours, but Don finally spoke again, his words soft and full of concern. "When do you leave?"

"As soon as the courier gets here with my orders." Colby's words were leaden. Don could hear the worry in his voice. He knew that the young man hadn't expected this; he looked like his legs were about to give out from under him at any second…

"Does Diane know?"

"I've only just found out myself."

"How the hell could this happen, Col?"

Colby looked at his boss and shook his head. "You never really _leave_ the army, Don. Unless you're medically discharged or get a dishonourable, they can recall you at any time for at least ten years. Especially if you're ex Special Forces." He shrugged and gave his boss a sad smile. "What, you actually think I went _fishing _on my vacation last year?"

"You're kidding me!"

"Nope." There was that sad little smile again. "Look. It's only for a few days. And from what the Colonel told me on the phone, it has to do directly with this attack on the base. So there's a good chance I could bring some useful intel back with me." The man's voice was flat. It was still sinking in, that much was clear.

Don looked past Colby and into the office. He nodded at a figure outside. "Looks like your courier's here, bud." Colby turned to see a man in army uniform standing awkwardly by his desk. Nikki was in conversation with him and pointed towards interview room one. Colby couldn't take his eyes off the buff coloured envelope the courier held in his hands…

"Shit. They don't waste any damn time, do they?" He pushed himself away from the desk as the courier walked up to the interview room. Before the man had a chance to knock, Colby pulled the door open.

"Captain Colby John Granger?"

"Yes."

"Can you confirm your identity, sir?"

"Bravo Zulu two zero three three one seven one."

"Thank you sir." The man handed the envelope over and turned without a word, walking away quickly.

"What, no salute?" Don grinned wryly at Colby who merely shook his head, stared at the envelope and muttered a reply.

"I'm not in uniform." He hooked his thumb under the corner of the envelope and ripped open the buff paper. A folded sheath of paper fell out, along with a plane ticket. Don could see the military insignia on the top of the paper and the words 'TOP SECRET' emblazoned in red across the cream stationary. Colby sighed and glanced up. "Sorry, Don, I can't tell you what's in…"

Don held a hand up and smiled. "Don't worry bud. I understand." He held his hand out and Colby grasped it firmly. Don smiled once more and shook Colby's hand. "Just…just take care of yourself, okay? And get your ass back here in one piece, you understand?"

Colby didn't return the smile. He merely nodded in response and waited until Don had left the room to unfold the orders he had been dreading. His guts twisted into a knot and his fingers tightened on the paper, crumpling the edges. His destination…

Kosovo…

333333333

Colby walked out of the FBI's offices and into the brilliant sunlight of a glorious LA afternoon. Sitting on the bench with a coffee clutched in one hand and a cigarette in the other was the one person he could talk to. Diane glanced up – the unspoken bond between them telling her of his approach. She watched him as he walked towards her and felt her own heart sink. His posture was hunched, the shoulders dropped and the normally confident walk reduced to a slow shuffle. He was devastated; she could see it in his eyes. Diane discarded the coffee and stood up, waiting for the inevitable…

"Hey babes." He looked at her sadly, fighting back the emotions that threatened to boil to the surface.

"They've told me." She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close, not caring about the stares of strangers that passed them by. It was their private moment – nobody else existed in her world right now apart from him… She felt his strong arms wind around her and he clung to her wordlessly, just wanting to be with her for a few brief seconds. The world around them dissolved into nothingness as he buried his face into her shoulder, not wanting to speak, not wanting to say that one word that had so much meaning for both of them…

Finally, Colby sighed and stood back, his arms still wound tight around her. "They're sending me to Kosovo."

"I know."

"You _know_?"

Diane smiled gently. "What, you thought you were going out there on your _own_? Not on my watch, sweetheart. Danny Smith's your contact. You're working with my lads, babes."

Colby smiled for the first time that day. "Well, that's the first bit of good news I've had. You know anything else about the mission?"

Diane reached inside her jacket and pulled out a small flashdrive. "Latest intel's on there. We've got a team in situ, they'll liase with you as soon as you touch down in Greece."

"Fuck me, you know more about this than I do!" Colby let out a short laugh that melted away as he saw the serious look in Diane's eyes.

"It's a joint oppo, sweetheart. I've been ordered to work with your team here while you're away. We've had a crap load of chatter on a couple of websites we've been monitoring. Micky's flying in from DC tonight." She cupped a hand on his cheek and kissed him gently. "Be careful. And come back to me."

"I promise." Colby kissed her back, drifting back into that empty place again for a few seconds where the only other person who existed in the entire world was the woman he loved…

Diane broke the kiss and squeezed his hand briefly before turning away and walking towards the FBI offices. She didn't turn back. She didn't dare. She didn't want the last thing that Colby saw to be the tears that rimmed her green eyes…

Colby watched her walk away. He knew she was deeply distressed and it tore at him inside. But there was absolutely _nothing _either of them could do…

3333333

The plane's tyres screeched as the jet landed, the jolt making the cabin of the aircraft judder violently. Colby glanced out of the window, watching the scenery slow to a stop as the plane taxied to a standstill. Out of the window he could see a black sedan waiting on the tarmac. The three men waiting patiently by the car were all in military uniform. It was pretty obvious that Colby wasn't going to have to go through the unnecessary hassle of airport checks – the car had been sent for him…

The east coast air was chilly compared to the balmy warmth of Los Angeles, but Colby found it strangely refreshing after five years of smog and heat. He'd got used to LA, but sometimes it was nice to get away from the paper-thin veneer of respectability and glamour that covered the murky underbelly of a city that had long ago seen the last of the Angels fly away…

"Captain Granger?" One of the three men stepped forward as Colby disembarked. He stretched out a hand and Colby shook his hand, still wary of this unknown man in uniform. He glanced at the insignia on his shoulder – the man was a Ranger. Colby relaxed, let go of the man's hand and nodded. "I'm Sergeant Steven Monroe. We have a car waiting for you, sir."

Colby grinned. "Ah. That would be that big black shiny thing over there with the wheels, right?"

Monroe looked momentarily confused and Colby helped him out by nodding at the car. "Oh, right! Yes, sorry sir. I forgot you Delta Force boys tend to have a bit of a snarky sense of humour that us mere workaday soldiers often don't get."

Colby looked surprised at the man who merely raised an eyebrow, no hint of irony on his face. Colby frowned. "Okay then…"

"If you wouldn't mind, sir, the Colonel is waiting for you." The humourless solider waved a hand towards the sedan and Colby walked to the rear of the car, climbing in wordlessly and settling back on the leather seat. Another soldier had taken his bag and put it into the trunk of the sedan and now climbed behind the wheel, slamming the door shut and starting the engine without a word. Monroe sat in the back seat with Colby and handed him a file.

"I'm afraid that we're working with the British on this one, sir. God knows why we're teaming up with the limeys, but apparently they've got a crew on the ground already."

Colby glanced sharply at the man. "Those _limeys _happen to be the best goddamn soldiers in the world, _sergeant_. And I'll thank you to remember that in future." Colby's voice was sharp. The man had overstepped his boundaries and Colby's tone of voice reminded him of the fact that a, he was speaking with a superior officer and b, he didn't know what the _hell _he was talking about. Monroe looked surprised and instinctively backed away from his fellow passenger. Granger's reputation was a fearsome one and he realised that his glib manner had antagonised the big man.

"I apologise sir."

"Just tell me you ain't coming with me, is all."

"No sir."

"Thank fuck for that. Danny Smith would tear you to pieces in about thirty seconds!" Colby opened the file and started reading. Monroe frowned and shuffled in his seat.

"I've been ordered to make sure you are delivered straight to the Colonel's…"

Colby glanced up from the file and stared hard at Monroe. The man's mouth snapped shut as he locked eyes with Granger. The big man exuded a dangerous vibe and Monroe was smart enough to realise that some of that dangerous energy was currently focusing uncomfortably on him… "I don't need to be _delivered _anywhere_, _Sergeant Monroe. Are we clear on that? Just drop me off at the front door. I'm sure I'll be able to find my way from there, okay? I'm _quite _familiar with the layout of Fort Bragg and the whereabouts of the Colonel's office. Now, if you _don't _mind…" Colby held up the file and raised an eyebrow.

"Yes sir." Monroe settled back and the rest of the car journey to Fort Brag passed in silence…

33333333

"I'm sorry about this Colby, I really am." Colonel Thomas waved a hand at a chair and Colby nodded in thanks and sat down. Colonel Mark Thomas was a powerfully built man whose immaculate uniform strained across his massive shoulders. Greying hair peppered his temples with a silvery sheen and his clean-shaven, rugged face showed a lifetime's service in the lines that crinkled the corners of his mouth and a single scar that ran from the corner of his right eye to his earlobe. He sat down opposite Colby and leaned back in his chair, studying the younger man.

Colby Granger had been an exceptional soldier and an even better intelligence officer. It had been a shame to lose him to first the CIA and then the FBI, but Mark Thomas had a huge amount of respect for the man and was pleased to have him back. "Been a while, Colby."

"Yes sir."

"Sir? Good grief Colby, don't tell me you've actually acquired a measure of respect for rank during your time with the Feds?" Mark raised an eyebrow and smiled wryly.

"Only for those who command it, sir." Colby flashed a grin at his CO and relaxed back into the chair. He liked the Colonel. He was a soldier's soldier – every inch a commanding officer. He'd come through the army the hard way – a veteran of the first Gulf War and commanding officer of the so-called '103rd Logistics' – a pseudonym for Delta Force. He'd personally picked Colby to be one of his top intelligence people after a short stint in the CID had shown the Colonel just how good Granger was at intelligence gathering and undercover work. Granger had continued to serve 'officially' with CID, but he'd seen far more active service behind enemy lines than most soldiers would see in a lifetime…

Colonel Thomas laughed. "Thank god for that, Granger. I thought you'd gone soft in your old age!"

"Nope. Sir."

"Nice work with Aranamov, by the way. Took us years to find the bastard but you did well."

"Which brings us back to Kosovo, sir."

Mark's demeanour instantly changed. He heard the business-like tone of Colby's voice. He also knew damn well that the young man was hiding a tumult of emotions about going back to a place that held such dreadful memories for him…"Yes." He sighed and sat forward. "Jesus, Col, I really do wish it was anywhere else but there, buddy, I really do. I know your feelings about the place."

"With respect sir, my feelings about going back to that shit-hole don't enter into it. We have a job to do. Which I'd very much like to get done as quickly as possible and get the fuck back to my life in LA. Sir."

"Appreciated. You've read the file?"

"Yes. And the flash-drive Diane gave me."

"Good to have the Brits on board with this one."

"They know the place better than anyone else. And there's nobody I'd trust more to have at my back on this one than them, sir."

"Agreed. Okay, so here's what we know. A terrorist group known as the Hand of God has been very busy on the old social networking sites recently. CTC have been keeping tabs on them. Captain Armstrong's people have been monitoring their chatter through MI6 in London and in LA. Indicators are that their people have been training at a terrorist training camp 80 clicks north of Pristina on the border with Serbia. The British have been on the ground monitoring the place for the last few weeks and have been sending us regular reports back." Thomas stood up and moved across the room. "Coffee?"

"Thank you sir."

Thomas poured out a couple of cups of coffee as he continued to talk. "About two weeks ago, they sent back a report that indicated a group of American nationals had been spending time at the camp. They were identified as a fundamental group known as the Free America Federation."

"I thought those assholes were white supremacists!"

"So did we. Until we found out that they're actually a front for a Taliban funded Serbian Muslim group who fled to the US after the Bosnian war. They integrated themselves like goddamn parasites and laid low until now." He handed Colby the coffee and sat on the edge of the desk. "We think they're behind the attack on the armoury at Fort Irwin. Captain Armstrong is liasing with your people in LA to track the bastards down that end. But we don't think that's the end of the operation. There's still a group of US nationals at the camp right now. And we would dearly like to know who they are and what the hell they're planning."

"And that's where I come in, right?"

"You know the country, you speak the language, Colby. Sorry buddy, but you were a natural choice." Thomas took a mouthful of coffee and watched Colby's reaction carefully. The man didn't give anything away… "This isn't a seek and destroy mission, Col, it's a silent incursion. We want you and your team to go in, find out as much as you can and get out again without giving them any kinda head's up that we're on to them."

"Zero casualties?"

"Zero casualties. We're flying you in to Greece and then overland through Albania and into Kosovo. It's the long way round, but it'll raise the least suspicion if anyone's watching out. Plus I doubt very much if the Kosovo authorities would be too pleased to hear you're back in the neighbourhood, Colby." He took another swig of coffee. "Your specialist area, bud. Deep undercover. Minimum exposure, maximum impact. Intel gathering only. Don't be tempted to get…_creative._"

Colby sat in silence and studied his coffee intently, frowning deeply as he watched the brown liquid swirl in the cup. Thomas watched the big man like a hawk. He knew how difficult this mission was, both logistically and emotionally for the ex-soldier. Kosovo had chewed Colby up and spat him out, almost in pieces. He didn't want to send the man into a situation he couldn't cope with…

"Colby, I have to ask you this. Are you fit for this mission?"

Colby looked up sharply. "What do you mean, sir?"

"You know perfectly well what I mean. What you went through over there…"

"Is in the past, sir."

"But still…"

"Do you have doubts that I can cope?"

"No, but…"

"There's no but about it, sir. We have a job to do." Colby's voice was hard, cold and emotionless. Colonel Thomas knew only too well the duel personality that the man had. The one – laid back, easy going and quick to see the humour in almost anything. The other – a cold, hard, calculating soldier capable of murderous rage and furious violence. Over the years, Granger had successfully merged the two halves of his personality to create a deadly, efficient and frighteningly intelligent covert operative whose 'sixth sense' was almost uncanny. He knew damn well that this mission had Colby's name all over it. And with Colby in charge, they actually had a glimmer of hope of being able to pull it off…

"Good. That's all I needed to hear. You fly out tomorrow at oh five hundred hours. I've arranged for a bed for the night here for you. I need you to sign a couple of bits of paperwork but the rest of the evening's your own. Get some rest. You're going to need it. Monroe will brief you on the details."

"I'd prefer someone other than Monroe, sir."

"Any reason why?"

"Um, the man's an idiot?" Colby shrugged.

"Wow. Way to go on first impressions, Col!" Thomas laughed. "I suppose I can have him draw up a briefing document if you prefer? You can read it on the flight."

"That would be preferable, sir."

"I'll see to it." Colonel Thomas stood up and Colby got to his feet, saluting smartly.

"Sir."

"Okay, now you're just freaking me out, Col!" Colonel Thomas laughed, but returned the salute, despite the fact that Colby was out of uniform. It was a mark of respect from one soldier to another… He held out his hand and Colby shook it. "Good luck, Captain."

"Thank you sir…"

33333333

The barrack room was quiet. Familiar smells took Colby back to his first night in the army, all those years ago. The feelings of pride, worry, and concern about whether he would be good enough to become a Ranger, the excitement – they all flooded back. He'd read the briefing files from cover to cover, committing the details to memory and slotting them into place like a mental jigsaw puzzle. This wasn't the time to adopt his usual 'just a humble G-man' act. From hereon in, he had to be his old self again. The _real _Colby Granger. The one Don had only seen flashes of. The Colby Granger capable of carrying out a covert mission behind enemy lines…

He settled back onto the bed and lay staring up at the darkness, letting his mind wander, wondering what his friends were doing right now, wondering if he would ever see them again or if Kosovo would grab hold of him and – this time – not let go. He wondered if he'd ever see Diane again, see her smile, those green eyes, that sharp wit and moments of tenderness that he loved so much.

He wondered if things would ever be the same again…

_**TBC…**_


	4. Mission Statements

Chapter 4

Disclaimer.

Right then. After the seriousnessseseesssssesss (damn it, how do you _stop _spelling that?) of last time, we're back to the silly-soddery of usual. See this 'ere story? MINE, I tells ya, all MINE! See them thar characters of Diane Armstrong, Micky Cox and Danny Smith? Yup, they's MINE too. See the whole Numb3rs thing?

Not mine.

Bugger.

If it was, you can be DAMN sure you'd be getting all 22 episodes of season six and a season seven, that's for certain. But seeing as I don't have any stocks in CBS and can't kick their arses as a stakeholder, this is as close to giving them the finger (Insert me flicking CBS the finger here) as yer gonna get. Your _NUTS_, Nina Tassler, you know that? Seriously nuts. Getting rid of your highest Friday night ratings puller? Televisual suicide, sweetheart… (See previous chapter for details!)

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaanyhoo…

A two-part POV here, so allow for time differences between LA and Greece and you'll kinda get the drift of things. Run with it, or risk developing a nasty headache trying to work out who's doing what, where and when...

Usual 'you've been warned' thingy about violence, swearing, unintelligible Cockney rhyming slang and a nasty Nikki Bedacourt/Diane Armstrong face-off (Ah, the beginings of a _beautiful _friendship...NOT)...

Roll Credits…

* * *

"Hello Don."

Don looked up into two of the most intense green eyes he'd ever seen. He knew them immediately – they had exactly the same burning passion and hard-edged professionalism behind them as Colby's. Diane Armstrong stared straight back at Don and gave him a small smile. "Been a while."

Behind the hardness of those emerald-green eyes Don could see something else he'd hardly expected from a woman he'd always assumed kept her emotions deeply buried – an aching sadness. He guessed that Colby and Diane had said their goodbyes and by now Granger was on a plane to some god-forsaken destination. It was obvious that the separation had cut her to the core, but there was something even deeper behind her sorrow – something that only she and Colby knew about… Still smarting at losing the one man he'd relied on at the start of this investigation, the presence of Diane was some small comfort. He knew she was every bit as capable as Colby – an expert in her field, a superb intelligence officer and an anti-terrorism specialist. Despite his reluctance to accept the woman as anything other than a psychotic ex-SAS Captain with a habit of causing chaos wherever she went, he was relieved to have her on the team. He smiled warmly at her and stood up, offering her a hand. She shook it firmly, her grip as strong as any mans…

"Hey Dee. Waddya say?"

"You've been briefed?" Her soft London accent was all business, repelling any questions Don might have about her goodbyes with Colby.

Don nodded. "In a round about sort of way. Coffee?" He nodded towards the break room and she fell into step alongside him.

"Who made it?"

"Colby. Just before he…" Don stopped and looked at Diane apologetically.

"He hasn't _died_, Don. He's just…taking care of business. That's all." Diane gave him a small, reassuring smile. But behind it Don could see the worry in her eyes…

Taking care of business. He'd heard that euphemism before. Colby had explained that it meant active service, usually covert operations, but had refused to go into details. He nodded and opened the door to the break room, holding it open to allow the tall, powerfully built Englishwoman to walk through. "Yeah. I know. Guess we're both just a little edgy about the whole thing, huh?" He closed the door softly behind him and went to the coffee machine. Diane sat on the edge of a table, watching the man.

"I won't say it wasn't a shock, Don. But it's something we have to live with. I'm in the same position as he is. If London decides it needs my services, I can be recalled on zero hours notice." She shrugged. "We live in very unstable times, old son. I suppose we just have to get on with things as best we can." Don didn't miss the quiet resignation in her voice. It was exactly the same as Colby's when he told Don there was nothing he could do about the situation. Orders were orders. To reject those orders was to go against everything these dedicated soldiers believed in. Don realised that people like Colby and Diane were every bit as committed to the safety and security of innocent people as he was. They just took it to a whole new level…

"Glad to have you here, Diane. Colby's recall's left me seriously short-handed."

"Call me Dee. Diane's so formal, don't you think? And happy to help. We're all on the same side here, right?" Don turned and looked at the woman, who smiled unexpectedly. The smile transformed her normally stern, hard features into a much softer version of the same woman. He suddenly saw what Colby saw – a highly capable and deeply complex woman who cared as passionately about right and wrong as he did. Don chuckled quietly, and Diane's smile faded instantly. "Something funny?"

"No." He held out a coffee and she took it graciously, nodding her thanks. "Just that I couldn't imagine us having this conversation a year ago, Dee."

"Never judge a book by its cover, Don."

"Oh, don't worry. I learned that from Colby a _long_ time ago. You and him are very similar."

"In what way?"

"You want a _list_?" Don raised an eyebrow at the woman and she suddenly laughed.

"Yeah, fair point, Don. I expect that a year ago all you wanted to do was get shot of me."

"Actually? A year ago I would have willingly shot _at _you. But that was then."

"Not tempted any more?"

Don smiled. "Start blowing LA up again like last time and I might just change my mind!" He sat on the edge of a table opposite Diane and took a mouthful of coffee, wincing as he tasted just how bitter it was. "Seriously. You people drink your Java like this _all _the time?"

"Well, Col's coffee is legendary for being poisonously strong, but it all depends how long you want to stay awake for. Two cups of this and yer on bloody hyperdrive for a damn week." Diane grinned and toasted her new partner.

Don grinned back and returned the toast. He fell silent for a moment and studied the woman. Diane raised an eyebrow. "Something on your mind, Eppes?"

"What are we looking at here, Dee? Seriously?"

"Is that your way of trying to get me to tell you what Colby's doing?"

"I'm that transparent, huh?"

"You know I can't go into details."

"Then just give me a rough outline."

Diane nodded and drained the last of the coffee. "Colby's with some of my lads. They're looking at a lead in Europe and we're hoping they'll bring us back a few key answers. Any more than that..."

"And you'd have to kill me, right?" Don grinned.

Diane returned the grin. "I can assure you it would be nothing personal."

"Granted."

Anyhoo. This end, we've had a lot of chatter from a few targets we've been keeping a close eye on over the past couple of months. Emails, jpegs of random houses that we think have been subject to steganography but with a key that so far we've been unable to crack. I'm damn sure that there's secondary images behind the initial pictures, but until Micky figures out a way to unlock them, we're stuck."

Don frowned. "Charlie might be able to help you with that. A couple of years ago we had a paedophile case where a guy had encrypted pornographic pictures of his daughter underneath a random picture. Charlie managed to untangle that."

Diane looked disgusted. "His _daughter?_ Jesus Christ!" She shook her head. "Just, for my own peace of mind, tell me you got the bastard."

"Damn right we did." Don nodded. "Give me a copy of the pictures and I'll see what Charlie can do with them."

"Micky'll be bringing them with him. Anyway, from what we _have _managed to unpick so far, it's definate that we have a cell operating in LA. At the moment they're dormant. But the increase in chatter suggests that they're at the planning stage, and I'd like to nip it in the bud as early as possible. The hit at Irwin was hinted at, but our people didn't pick up on it in time. That was our mistake, Don, and not one I'm happy about."

"You mean you _knew _that something like this was gonna happen?"

"Don, it's not that clear cut. You know what intelligence assessment can be like. Sometimes you get it right, sometimes you don't. This time? We didn't."

"So what did you think was gonna go down?"

Diane frowned. "Honestly? We weren't sure. But I'm damn sure that Fort Irwin wasn't the primary target. That was a means to an end, I'm sure of that. No, Don, there's definately at least two parts to our cell's plans. They've been talking about weddings, christenings and other crap, but the last couple have mentioned a big family get together with, as they put it, our extended family in Europe. So to answer your question in a roundabout sort of way Don, _that's _what Colby's doing. He's finding out who the European family members are and what they're doing." She paused and studied Don.

Don grinned. "Sizing up whether you should kill me or not now?"

Diane let out a short laugh of genuine amusement. "That transparent, huh?"

Don returned the laugh. "Lucky I know when you're joking."

"I don't _always_ joke, Don."

"I know." He scratched idly at his head. "I'd really like to see those emails, Dee. I'm pretty sure Charlie can help us out big time on this one."

"Agreed. Micky's flying in this afternoon from DC with the latest updates."

"Micky Cox?" Don grinned. "So I'm gonna have _two _Brits on my team?"

"This is an all-agencies, my friend. CTC believes that LA is ground zero because of the Fort Irwin event. DC has more respect for your team than anyone else in the neighbourhood. You get results, ergo, you get the resources. I take it you don't have a problem with working with us _Brits_?"

Don laughed. "As long as you control your urges to blow shit up, I'm cool! Hands across the ocean and all that, right?"

It was Diane's turn to laugh quietly to herself. "So, as you colonials say, we're good here?"

Don returned the smile. "What, having two ex-SAS intelligence experts on the team? Hell _yes_, we're good!" He grinned and raised the coffee cup in salute.

"I'm glad. Despite our past differences, I like working with your team. They've got their heads screwed on right."

Don laughed. "Not all of them, well, not _yet, _anyway." He nodded towards the glass window of the break room and out into the bullpen. "Newest member."

Nikki Bedacourt stood barking into a phone, her hand on her hip in a posture of impatient frustration and her wild, curly hair bobbing furiously with each snapped part of the conversation she was having with an unfortunate recipient at Fort Irwin. Diane raised an eyebrow and turned back, barely concealed mirth twitching at the corners of her mouth.

"Ah, so _that's _Nikki."

"Colby's told you about her?"

"We do talk to each other, Don. You'd be surprised how much I know about your little team!" She stared blankly at Don but again, there were those twitches of mirth at the corners of her mouth again. So similar to Colby's dry wit…

"David's on his way back from hostage negotiation training. He'll be with us tomorrow morning at the latest."

"Right then. Well in the meantime I guess I better bring you up to speed on what we've got." Diane pushed herself off the corner of the table and stood up. "Got a comp I can hook up to?"

"Use Colby's desk. I'm pretty sure he won't mind." Don walked to the door with Diane, noticing how smoothly she walked; cat like, on the balls of her feet and looking as if she was ready to break into a flat run any second. Exactly the same as Colby…"I'll introduce you to Nikki."

Diane gave Don a blank look. "I can't wait."

Don chuckled at the heavy cynicism in her voice and led the way out. Diane followed Don out into the chaos of the pen and they approached an obviously irate Nikki. As they approached the frowning woman, they could hear her snapping a sharp command into the phone.

"I don't give a crap! We're the ones investigating this as a possible terrorist threat, so how about a little inter-departmental co-operation here? _Thank _you!" Nikki slammed the phone down and scowled furiously at Don. "Seriously. What _is _it with these goddamn military spooks?" Don's eyes crinkled in amusement and he couldn't help himself – he grinned broadly at Dee. Nikki looked at the tall, red haired woman and glanced back at Don, finally noticing the amusement on his face. "_What_?"

"Nikki? Meet Captain Diane Armstrong. Ex British _military spook_ and now working for our people."

"Oh. Great. _Another _one." Nikki sighed. "Perhaps you can have more luck than I'm getting with these dumbasses." She thrust a file out towards Diane. Diane's perfectly arched eyebrow raised in amusement and she took the file from Nikki. "And where in the hell is Colby, Don?" Nikki's voice was sharp – she was obviously having a very bad day… "Don't tell me. He's off doing something uber covert, right? Usual spy shit?"

"Nikki, you wanna stop talking for a nanosecond?" Don's amusement at the first meeting between two explosive women he knew were going to clash head on had worn thin. Nikki still had to learn when to stop talking and start listening.

"Colby is dealing with other business for a few days. I'm his, for want of a better word, _replacement_." Diane glanced up from the file at Nikki.

"Right. So wadda I call ya? Captain Armstrong? Agent Armstrong? What?"

Diane went back to studying the contents of the file, rifling through the pages and seeming to ignore Nikki's question. As Nikki opened her mouth to speak again, without returning her gaze to the younger woman, Diane spoke quietly. "How about ma'am?" She let this sink in and eventually looked up again, folding the file shut and turning her attention utterly towards Nikki, her face completely blank. Nikki hadn't learned yet about the English sense of humour, or how to read micro-expressions. Don turned away, covering his amusement as best he could but almost failing to hold in the laugh that threatened to break free…

Nikki didn't know whether the woman was joking, or if she was actually _serious. _The Englishwoman's expression was unreadable. It put Nikki completely on the back foot. It was like trying to argue with a statue…"Seriously…_ma'am? _You're kidding me, right?" Her voice was a mixture of indignant outrage and sheer confusion.

Diane gave Nikki a humourless smile. "Really? You _think_?"

Don gave in. He chuckled to himself and shook his head. "Dee…"

Diane suddenly broke into a broad grin and laughed sharply. "I think you better explain to Nikki about the English sense of humour, Don, before she takes real offence." The red headed woman laughed quietly again and gave Nikki a softer look. "Yes, I _am_ only kidding, Agent Bedacourt. Diane will do fine."

Nikki's hackles went up – she was a tough, no nonsense sort of girl, straight talking and both book and street smart. Or that's how she liked to portray herself to the outside world. It was really an act that disguised the deep anxiety she was still feeling as she tried to prove to one of the best units in the FBI that she was good enough to be a part of the team. She knew full well that she had been trying too hard. And that had damn near got her and Granger killed. Right now? The last thing she needed was another blow to an already fragile confidence in the form of a woman who was in a completely different _league_ to her. She fought back in the only way she knew how. Her subconscious kicked in and went into full-defensive mode…"So how come Don's callin' ya Dee?"

Diane looked at her sharply and frowned. "I'm sorry?"

"What, you don't think I'm worthy enough to call you Dee?"

"I can revert back to _ma'am_ very easily, Nikki..."

"That's _Agent Bedacourt_ to you!"

There was a moment's silence...

Diane looked quizzically at Don. "Is she always like this, or does she 'ave a day off sometimes, Don?" Although the humour was still there, Don noticed a sharp edge to Diane's rhetorical question, emphasised by the hardening of the normally soft East London accent.

"Um, excuse me? _She _happens to be stood right here!" Nikki scowled furiously at Diane.

Diane looked blankly at her. "So I see." The words were perfectly polite, but delivered in a voice that was shot through with solid steel...Don could sense the dangerous undertones. Diane was becoming impatient with the headstrong young woman…

"Nikki, you wanna go find out whether the autopsy is in for King yet?" Don needed to nip this first somewhat hostile encounter between the two women in the bud. Nikki was way out of her depth and although he knew that currently, Diane regarded Nikki in the same way as an irritating, buzzing fly, that could change in a heartbeat if the hot-headed young FBI agent overstepped the mark. He could also tell that Diane's patience was rapidly wearing thin…

"Good idea. I'd also like to see everything you have on O'Neils. I have information that should correlate with yours and I'd like to get an analysis started of any connections they have with the chatter we've got." Diane picked up on Don's technique of defusing a potentially explosive situation with Nikki and gave her a small, reassuring but chilly smile. She had commanded plenty of teams in her time and knew how to handle people. The young woman was putting on a brave front, but Diane knew she felt intimidated. But if Don had brought her onto the team, then Diane realised that Nikki must have some modicum of ability, otherwise she wouldn't be here. And although she wasn't out to make friends with Nikki, Diane didn't need the aggravation of personality clashes. They had bigger fish to fry right now, and she didn't have time to babysit newbies. She zoned Nikki out, even though the woman was standing only inches from her. "How quickly can we bring your brother on board?"

"Charlie's in Pasadena for a couple of days at a conference, but I'll give him a call and see if he can take a look at what you've got." Don had also chosen to ignore Nikki, deeply embarrassed by the young woman's outburst in front of a senior and highly decorated British army officer with 13 years experience. He would be having words with her later...

The young woman stood watching the exchange between Don and Diane. She felt like a naughty child being excluded from grown-ups talk. It made her feel worthless…

"I'll…I'll go get the autopsy report, then, shall I?" She jabbed a thumb over her shoulder and hesitated, waiting to be dismissed by her boss… The dismissal didn't come. Don and Diane had already moved away towards Colby's empty desk and had completely forgotten about her. She glanced forlornly around the office, where she felt like a very small cog in a very big machine. "Oookay then…" She walked towards the elevator, thinking back over a not very good first impression. Nikki felt completely alone again…

33333333

Colby walked out into the blistering heat and choking smog of Athens. The continuous cacophony of car horns blasted out an urban overture in the afternoon heat haze that made the skyline shimmer. He saw the Land Rover and walked quickly towards it, scanning around him for anyone who may be more interested in his arrival in Greece than he would like. The crowd swirled and swarmed like confused ants, but his powerful build and sheer presence cleared a small 'personal' space around him as he walked. He reached the black Land Rover and pulled open the passenger door. Danny Smith smiled warmly at Colby as he climbed into the basic but comfortable cab. "Captain Granger. Always a pleasure, mate." Danny beamed and shook Colby's hand firmly. Good flight?"

"Great flight. But the landing?" Colby shrugged and grinned back at his British friend. "Man, I'm still tryin' to work out if we did actually _land _or if some son of a bitch _shot_ us down!"

Danny laughed heartily. "Sounds you had the same fucking pilot as we did last week!" He started the engine and Colby immediately recognised the deep growl of a V8 engine. This wasn't just an ordinary Land Rover. He whistled softly.

"You guys been playing under the hood with this baby?" He grinned at Danny. "'Cause the last Land Rover I rode in sure as hell didn't sound that sweet!"

"Yeah. It's the SAS version of Pimp my Ride, mate. Instead of alloys, we have little red buttons that you _do not _press unless you really, _really _need to." Danny grinned and pointed at a red button that Colby now _longed _to press.

"Dude! Nitrous? _Seriously?_"

"No point in going out to play if you ain't got any bleedin' toys, old son!" Danny laughed again, and carefully pulled out into the chaotic Greek traffic. "As they made their way through the Athens maelstrom, Danny chatted casually. "Sorry about having to take the scenic route, guv. But we thought it best to avoid any interest from unfriendlies."

"You don't need to call me guv, Danny."

Danny shot Colby a serious look. "Yes. I do. As far as we're concerned, you're the guv on this mission." He focused his attention back onto the deadly jostling for position on one of Athens's busiest roads. "Besides. You outrank me. And we're on active, so…" Danny shrugged and left the rest of the sentence unsaid. They both knew what was at stake…Danny's demeanour changed again. "Bugger, where are my manners? Introductions. Guv, the short, fat hairy one is Marcus Bowen. He's our tech. Marcus, This is Captain Colby Granger. Delta Force, FBI, CIA, CTC and fuck knows what else. Bloke's got more fucking letters after his name than a college professor. _All _of them dodgy, and _all _of them deeply sneaky. Marcus old son, meet the sneakiest fucking Yank bastard and the best fucking intelligence officer you'll ever encounter on God's sweet green earth!"

Colby looked taken aback for a second before breaking into a shout of laugher. "Yeah, _thanks _for that, Danny!"

Danny grinned. "Welcome, guv."

Colby twisted in his seat and offered a hand to Marcus. The man was stocky and powerfully built, with cropped hair and a mischievous twinkle in deep brown eyes. "A real pleasure to meet you, sir. Your reputation precedes you. And you call me fat one more time, Smithy, and I'll rip yer fuckin' ears off, you Cockney bastard!" Marcus grinned; his heavy northern accent had a gentle lilt to it. Colby grinned back.

"And the other ner'do'well sitting there looking like one o'clock half struck is Andy Thompson. He's our explosives specialist. Loves blowing shit up. Blew the latrines up at the base in Kandahar just for a laugh last month. Trouble is, the CO was sitting on the bog at the time!"

"How the hell was I supposed to know he was in the middle of his ablutions?" Andy grinned and shook Colby's hand. "I can assure you guv, I'm not in the _habit_ of blowing up commanding officers. Least of all sneaky fuckers like yourself. With respect. Guv."

"Well, that's reassuring!" Colby grinned back. Andy was a tall man, well over six foot and well spoken. He was clearly an educated man, with an easy going nature and an open, friendly face. Colby relaxed a little. He knew he was in the company of equals, men he could completely trust. He sat back in his seat and watched the ancient city of Athens speed past the windows. "How long before we get to our target?"

"Is that your way of saying are we nearly there yet?" Marcus quipped from the back seat. "Because I've been asking Smithy that for the last hundred miles."

Danny frowned furiously into the driver's mirror at Marcus and put on a mock, high pitched nagging tone like a mother scorning a child. "Yeah, and if you ask me one more time, Bowen, so help me I'll turn this damn Landy around and _nobody's _going to the party!" Danny laughed and glanced at Colby. "Seriously guv, he's been driving me _nuts_! I reckon we've got about 17 hours to do and I swear to God," Danny threw a mock threatening look into the mirror at Marcus, "we're gonna be a team member down by then if _someone _doesn't stop flapping their lips about!"

"Bollocks, you Cockney wanker! Marcus grinned broadly.

"Fuck you, Bowen, you northern git!"

"Seriously? Seventeen fucking hours of _this_?" Colby shook his head, pleased to be back amongst men he regarded as good friends. The constant bickering between the men was actually a characteristic of the complete professionalism of the regiment and their bond as a team. They trusted each other utterly and every single one of them knew when to let off steam...and when to get _deadly _serious. The banter instantly died, set to reappear again when appropriate. It was also a mark of the respect the three British soldiers had for Colby. As Danny had said, he was the guv on this mission...

Danny swerved a wildly wobbling moped that carried two adults and at least three children along a meandering path in the middle of the road. He swore colourfully at the hapless Greek family. Focusing back on the road, he spoke quickly and calmly. The banter gave way to a briefing. "Target's a village called Prestivno. Suspect camp is about three miles outside the old town walls."

"I had a look at the aerial recon photos on the way over. Ingress is gonna be a bitch. From what I could see, we've got open ground on three sides and the village on the other. I guess they've got a watch posted on that side, right?"

Marcus reached forward and passed a file to Colby containing photographs and maps. "You're right there, guv, but aerial recon only shows up what's on the ground."

Colby twisted back and looked at Marcus. "Meaning?"

Marcus grinned. "Meaning god bless the medieval town planners for being big on plumbing! There's an old underground sewer pipe that runs from the walls of the town to about fifty yards outside the camp perimeter. We're on a silent running order from the powers that be. Intel only, right? So, that sewer pipe is the best way to get up close and personal with our marks."

Colby grinned broadly, remembering a previous 'gofer' mission with Diane – the attack on Aranamov's stronghold. "I _like_."

"Thought you might." Andy laughed.

Colby grinned again and nodded. The smile faded and he became serious again. "What's the latest?"

"Latest is that your countrymen are still at the base. The base is run by a Serbian named Mohammed Moshiv. The bugger enjoyed himself a little too much in the Bosnian war, taking what he said was revenge against the war crimes of the Croats. Truth is, he's just a bloodthirsty bastard who enjoys killing people. When the whole mess in Yugoslavia finished, he disappeared off the radar. He's wanted in the Hague for war crimes, but the fucker slipped the net and vanished into Pakistan with Al Q'eda. He's ex military and knows how to run a camp. Got trained up by Osama's people and set up home back in Kosovo training the next generation of Gap Vest bombers." Andy passed a grainy, black and white photo of Moshiv. "That's the most recent picture we have of him."

"What about the home-grown boys?" Colby studied the picture, memorising the features of Moshiv.

"No positive id's on them yet. That's part of the mission. But we know there's four of them and they've been doing a shit load of weapon's training." Another picture was passed across and four dark, blobby figures could be seen on the ground aiming guns at what appeared to be mannequins. Colby frowned, peering closely at the picture.

"Are they using _dummies_ as targets?" He looked up at Andy, who had lost all trace of humour in his face. "Because they look _real _lifelike…"

"No, guv. Those are real people."

"_What_?"

"The report we have from the village is that anyone who wanders too close to the camp gets tied to a post and used as target practice. Plus a lot of locals have gone missing recently. Not enough to draw the attention of the local plod, but as they say, you do the math. Moshiv is one of those commanders who believes that nothing can prepare a soldier for battle better than actually killing a real human being. He believes in _keeping it real_." Andy scowled in disgust. "Shame this isn't a take and hold."

Colby's eyes flashed darkly. "I know, Andy." He handed the photo back. "But as much as it sickens me to say this, we're on a intel gathering _only_. We get creative, no matter how justified _we _believe it to be, the repercussions could be far worse. Our mission is to find out who the Americans are, what they're doing and what they're planning. Once we do that, we get out. Once we're out, I'm sure I can organise another team'll to go in and…_clean up_." He stared hard at Andy. "That's a _promise._"

Andy and Marcus both smiled lazily and nodded. "Yes, guv." Colby nodded back and settled back into the passenger seat, sighing as he shifted to get comfortable for the long drive ahead. Danny glanced at him and spoke quietly, preventing the other two men from hearing their conversation.

"You okay, guv?"

"Yeah, just a long flight, is all."

"Dee okay?"

"She's good. She's working with my boss to try and unpick this whole sorry mess from the LA end."

"That's not what I meant." Danny looked hard at Colby for a moment. "I was one of the team that got you out last time, guv. I know how you feel about the place."

Colby didn't answer. He wasn't in the mood to face those particular demons just yet.

"Guv?"

"I'm fine, Danny." The words didn't invite a response. Danny merely nodded and concentrated on getting them out of the chaos of Athens in one piece. Eventually the urban sprawl gave way to olive groves and citrus trees. The warm scent of lemons and oranges drifted through the cab of the Land Rover, refreshing after the stench of the smog of Athens. Colby settled back and closed his eyes, zoning the surroundings out. They had a long drive ahead of them – best to catch up on some much-needed rest while he could. But behind his closed eyes, his mind went over what Danny had told him about Moshiv using live targets for sniper practice. It sickened him to his stomach and, despite his orders to avoid getting 'creative', he was determined to complete a second mission above his primary orders. And he knew that the three men in the Land Rover would back him all the way. A furious anger boiled deep inside his gut. That kind of sickening, cold blooded murder disgusted him more than anything else. The murder of innocents was totally unacceptable to the deeply principled man. A dark plan began to form in his mind. He wasn't just going in to get intel.

_He was going to close Moshiv's sick little camp down…_

33333333

Diane sat at Colby's desk, staring intently at the computer screen. She was scanning the latest intelligence reports emailed through to her from Micky Cox. The attack at the base had been hinted at, but in such almost unintelligible terms as to make it practically impossible to pinpoint the exact information, even with the benefit of hindsight. She sat back and rubbed her eyes, shielding them from the glare of the fluorescent lights for a moment. But she knew that no amount of rubbing would remove the latest report from the screen or from worming its way into her analytical mind. She knew what the chatter was hinting at. And it worried her deeply…Frustration lines crinkled her normally smooth forehead and she ran her hand through her short red hair.

A cup of coffee appeared in front of her, held by a slim hand. Diane glanced up into the deep brown eyes of Nikki Bedacourt, who gave her a small smile. "Kinda a peace offering. Ya know. For us getting off on the wrong foot and all."

Diane took the coffee and nodded in thanks. "Apologies aren't needed, Nikki."

"Yeah, well, I kinda have a habit of making a pretty awful first impression." Nikki sighed and perched, uninvited, on the edge of Colby's desk. Diane raised an eyebrow in amusement and chuckled quietly.

"Nikki, can I be honest?"

"From what Col's said about you, I wouldn't expect anything else."

"You're trying too hard." Diane sat forward and looked up at the younger woman. "Trust me, I know how you feel. My first few weeks in the regiment, I busted my arse trying to prove I was worthy of being in the 22nd. And believe me, the SAS are far more demanding than this place!" Diane laughed again. "My second day there, we were out on a run and this bloody farmer took umbrage at a load of squaddies trotting across his fields. Comes at us with a bleedin' twelve bore fully loaded and starts waving it about. One of the lads told me to go and sort it out, figuring that the daft bastard would be less inclined to shoot a woman in the backside. So over I trotted, talked the old bumpkin down and ended up charming the fucker so much that he gave me a dozen eggs and a promise of a _warm bed_ should I ever get cold in the barracks!" Diane grimaced at the memory. "Trouble is, I had to finish a 15 mile yomp holding on to twelve still warm and chicken-shit covered eggs that my CO decided would make a welcome addition to breakfast!" Diane laughed again. "And if I dropped any, it was down to me to run ten miles back to the fucking farm to get replacements!"

"I don't see the point…" Nikki frowned.

"The point _is_, love, if you try to impress people too hard, you can end up making it a damn sight worse for yourself. Don's decided you're good enough for this team, and knowing Don that's a pretty big compliment. So have a little bit more faith in yourself, Nikki. If he does, so should you."

Nikki sat back, her arms folded across her chest, and studied the Englishwoman. Diane took a mouthful of coffee and returned the stare.

"What?"

"You ain't what I expected."

"Really? And what _did _you expect, Nikki?"

"I…I dunno, but you ain't her!"

Diane laughed again. "Sweetheart, you're _exactly _what I expected!"

Nikki's hackles went up again…"Oh yeah? What's _that _supposed to mean?"

"Damn, you're pricklier than a fucking hedgehog, girl! Enough with the defensiveness already!" Diane drained the coffee and tossed the cup into a bin without even looking. "Here's the thing. Right now, that little pep talk is the only one you're going to get from me. You're part of a superb team, and I expect you to be as good as any of the old timers in here at your job, clear? You fuck up, I'll come down on you like a ton of bricks. You do well, you'll get the acknowledgement and praise you deserve. You cross swords with me and I'll _fucking crucify you, _crystal?" Diane suddenly stood up, her face level with Nikki's and absolutely _no_ hint of humour in the hard, green eyes.

Nikki stood up and matched her stare, the walls around her fragile confidence slamming back into place. "Yeah. _Crystal_." She turned on her heels and walked defiantly back to her desk, desperately hoping that the sharp-eyed Englishwoman wouldn't see the tension in her shoulders that belied her nervousness of the second confrontation in the space of an hour with the ex-SAS officer.

Diane watched Nikki walk back to her desk and shook her head. She glanced up, straight into the eyes of Don and sighed. "Good lord. She really _is _like that twenty-four seven, isn't she?"

Don smiled broadly. "She's rough around the edges, Dee. But there's the makings of a good agent in there."

"Really? Where, exactly?"

"Cut her some slack, Dee."

"Any other time and I'd agree with you but this time? Sorry Don. There's no room for passengers on this one. Take a look." Diane pointed at the screen.

"What am I looking at?"

Diane looked up at him, her face utterly serious. "Worst case scenario, Don. That's what we're looking at…"

_**TBC…**_


	5. Dreams in a distant land

Disclaimer

SIGN THE PETITION! WRITE TO NINA TASSLER! SAVE NUMB3RS!

A-hem.

Right then. Now I've got that out of my system (and expect that to appear at the beginning of every disclaimer from hereon in, folks), onto the usual blahdy blah blah about me not owning anything at all whatsoever no really honestly I mean it to do with Numb3rs, the characters or any recurring story lines. What _is _mine (and it's been notarised, buddy, you better believe it) is the story, the characters of Diane 'She's actually quite nice when you get to know her' Armstrong, Micky 'Seriously. When, _exactly_ do I show up in this season?' Cox, Danny Smith et al. Anyone wanna disagree with that, I'll send Andy round to blow yer toilet up. With you on it. Firm, but fair, I think you'll agree…

Roll credits…

* * *

Don looked at the computer screen and frowned. All he saw was an email, talking about some family wedding. '_Everyone's invites have gone out and we've already had four friends from North Dakota say they'll be there on the 16th._ _Make sure you bring a gift for the bride._' "North Dakota? What, we looking at some kinda militia group or something here, Dee?"

Diane shook her head. "No. North Dakota is code."

"For what?"

"We're not sure. But the suspicion is that it's referring to a training camp in Eastern Europe."

"The one that Colby's gone to…"

"That's classified information, Agent Eppes." Diane shook her head again. "And way above your pay grade. Sorry, old son."

"Look Dee. I think I have a right to know what one of my agents is doing!"

"Really? You actually think that Washington gives a rat's arse _what _you think? C'mon Eppes, you know how this works. We take care of the murkier, covert stuff, and your people handle things on the ground here."

Don's face darkened. "Don't start that crap with me again, Dee…"

Diane held up a hand, stopping Don in mid-sentence. "Don, I'm not starting _anything_, believe me. I know you hate this, as you so put it, spy shit, but newsflash old darlin', the brave new world order in Washington don't give a crap about your sense of righteous indignation, _whether it's justified or not_. And _whether their own people agree with you either_." Diane's voice was heavily emphasised and she raised an eyebrow, silently hinting at Don to try and get him to understand. Don sat back, sudden realisation kicking in. He smiled slowly.

"Oh, right, I get it! You're not even supposed to be telling me about this email, are you? Let alone anything else!"

"And so, _finally, _the penny drops…"

Don grinned. Diane was breaking every rule in the book telling him about the email and the connection with Eastern Europe. She was as concerned for Colby as he was, and despite her loyalty to the agency, she was prepared to risk her career telling the FBI everything she knew. It seemed she had more faith in Don and his team than she did in her own paymasters.

Again, Don realised how little he knew about Diane and Colby's world. A world where a single sentence could mean so many different things; a world of bluff, double bluff and counter bluff. An ugly, sordid little world that took a special kind of person to inhabit its shadowy corridors and interpret its whispered conversations. Don also got the feeling that both Colby and Diane hated that aspect of the world of espionage as much as he did. But they also knew that the only way to make sure that the secretive world of the Intelligence agencies didn't become corrupted by personal ambition was to police it from the _inside_. His respect for the two ex army officers reached a new height. They were taking enormous risks – risks that he knew that most people, including himself, would shy away from.

"Okay, so _off _the record, this 'family wedding'." Don placed emphasis on the words. "Guess it's not gonna be a black tie affair? And what's this bring a gift for the bride crap mean?"

"More like bring a bodybag, Don. For a while, Washington has been reassessing its worst case scenarios. The terrorists have changed tactics. Before, we thought it would either be a bomb, maybe another plane into a building, ya know, standard terrorism 101 sorta stuff."

"Okay, so what's changed? What have they decided is a worst case scenario now?"

"A sustained attack. Gunmen in the street, specified targets, fast, mobile and bloody difficult to predict. A terrorist's dream, an intelligence agency's nightmare."

Don frowned. "What...like in Mumbai, you mean?"

Diane nodded. "Exactly like in Mumbai. The attack in November 08 changed the terrorism blueprint. Bombs, especially dirty or biological ones, leave one hell of a trail of breadcrumbs. Too many weak links, too many opportunities for us to pick up that trail. A Mumbai style attack is far more difficult to latch on to. The very nature of an attack like Mumbai means that the buggers can sweep the breadcrumbs away before we can even spot 'em. The only thing we have right now are a bunch of bloody emails we've gotta do a bleedin' Bletchley Park on, dodgy intel on a possible terrorist training camp in Eastern Europe, a date, the sixteenth, and an armoury that's been blown to buggery and back." She paused for a second, her arms crossed over her chest. Don could see the tension in her muscles. He frowned. She really _was _worried... "Now _normally_, that would constitute a pretty good trail of breadcrumbs, but we're hitting dead end after dead bloody end. We don't have a location, a target group or any of the missing pieces we need to complete this particular jigsaw puzzle in time to stop a shit load of innocent bastards from dying!" Diane sat back and took a deep breath, running a hand through her short, red hair. "And it's _pissing _me off."

"We do have one lead."

"The demolitions firm."

"Yeah."

"True. But I still think we're missing something here. I mean, think about it. It's such an obvious link…"

"Well, yeah, maybe. But my gut tells me it's worth checkin' out in a bit more detail, Dee."

"Oh, agreed, Don, agreed. Just don't be surprised if we get thrown a couple of curve-balls here, as you Americans like to say." Diane frowned and quietly muttered to herself. "What would Poirot do?"

"Excuse me?"

"Bugger, did I say that out loud?" Diane flashed a brief smile. "It's a private joke, sorry." She pushed herself off the corner of the table and strolled back over to the coffee machine, pouring herself a refill on autopilot, deep in contemplative thought. She turned and leaned back against the counter, staring intently at Don. "Don, I do agree with you. But my gut tells me the whole armoury thing was designed to throw us off track. I can't explain it just yet but there are too many variables here."

Don let out a brief laugh. "You sound like my brother."

"Speaking of which, Don, any chance he's on his way back from that confrence..."

Before she could continue, Nikki tapped nervously on the glass of the door and poked her head into the room. "Sorry guys, but I think you better see this…" She walked in and flicked the plasma screen to pick up a news broadcast. Accompanied to an almost orchestral-like soundtrack of screaming sirens and the thumping heartbeat of a helicopter's rotor blades, an excited news reporter was lavishing journalistic, dramatic prose on what was an already shocking scene.

A ball of flames rolled upwards from an exploding SUV, the column of smoke connecting the fireball to the source of the devastating blast like some small-scale nuclear mushroom cloud. Gunfire cracked through the air like somebody popping the bubbles on a piece of bubble wrap, but with far more deadly consequences. The rolling strap line identified the scene as downtown LA, where two street gangs had irrupted into violent confrontation. Repeated blasts rocked the scene, and in a corner, Don saw a gang banger throwing a grenade, setting off another chest-pounding explosion.

"Jesus, it's like fuckin' Beirut down there!" Diane peered closely at a shot of another gang banger, hoisting a rifle to his shoulder and aiming at an unseen target. Her eyes widened in surprise. "Hang on, that's a bloody M105 fifty calibre that bugger's using! How the _fuck _did that raggedy-arsed little herbert get his brasses on _that_?"

"LAPD are trying to get control, but they're having a hell of a job, Don. Seems these gangs have got their hands on some really heavy-duty hardware. _Military _hardware." Nikki looked directly at the Englishwoman as she spoke.

Diane scowled briefly. "Yeah? No shit, Sherlock, I can see that, sweetheart." She jabbed a finger at the gang banger sporting a top of the range sniper rifle. "Not just yer average drive-by weapon of choice, Booboo, is it?" She turned to Don, a sense of urgency in her voice. "We need to get down there. Now. If that's our missing military hardware from Irwin, then it means…"

"It means you were right about the raid being a distraction. But from what?" Don stood up quickly and the agents walked briskly back into the bullpen, grabbing their guns, badges and jackets on the move. Their conversation continued to the lift, Nikki watching them walk purposefully away from them. Abruptly, Diane turned and looked straight at the younger woman.

"What are you waiting for Nikki? A bleedin' invitation?" Diane cocked and eyebrow at the woman, and flustered, Nikki grabbed her jacket and trotted to the lift just as the doors began to close. She managed to dodge between the sliding doors and into the lift, where Don and Diane were busy checking their guns...

33333333

_Footsteps echoed along an unseen corridor. Colby lay in the dark, listening, waiting. Breathing was difficult. Thinking was even harder. All that filled his shattered mind was the agony that flooded through every part of his body. The IV drip attached to his arm kept the meds filled with toxins trickling relentlessly into his body and topped up to a level that was designed not to kill, but to inflict maximum pain._

_This time, the footsteps faded into the distance. He tried to open his eyes, knowing that all he would see was the utter blackness of the underground cell. No window, no light, no hope…_

_One eye wouldn't open, swollen closed by the expert and prolonged beating they had administered earlier. A combination of old school brutality and high-end torture techniques. Everything designed to take him to the edge, physically and mentally. He couldn't move, no matter how much he willed his weakened muscles to do so. Every attempt at movement sent new waves of utter agony coursing through him. The sensory deprivation of the black cell played tricks with his mind, convincing him that someone – an unknown and terrifying someone – sat in the corner, watching him silently, waiting for him to break... He directed one bloodshot eye towards the non-existent presence, straining in the blackness, willing the nothingness to take form, to give him an enemy he could direct his rage towards. But even that comfort was denied him…_

_The footsteps echoed again along the corridor, this time, stopping outside where Colby assumed the door would be. In the blackness, he didn't know which way was up, let alone where the damn door was. He closed his eye, praying to whatever god would listen to a beaten, bloody soldier that they would forget about him, let him die quietly and with no further agony inflicted on his brutalised body…_

_Light flooded into the room – brilliant, blinding and agonising in itself. Colby felt the now-familiar sensation of cold terror course through him. And so it began again. His desperate prayers had been ignored…_

"Guv?" Danny glanced over at the sleeping American, concerned. The man was obviously in distress… Gentle snores from the back seat told him that Marcus and Andy were sound asleep, but Colby's slumber was obviously being racked by nightmares. He reached over and touched Colby's arm gently. "Guv. You okay? Guv!"

Colby's eyes snapped open and he took a sharp gasp of breath in. The oncoming headlights of a battered Albanian truck dazzled him through the windscreen and he squinted, shielding his eyes from the glare. For a split second he was disorientated – was he back in that cell or in the relative safety of the Land Rover, surrounded by men he could trust with his life? Or were they the enemy, relishing the opportunity to torture another human being past all rational levels but never quite giving him the sanctity and merciful release of death? His head snapped around and he stared hard at Danny, who scowled in concern. "Guv, talk to me here…"

"What? I…I'm okay. Sorry. Bad dream."

"Yeah, I guessed that much." Danny's voice was soft – he didn't want to wake the others – he wanted to keep this situation private between himself and his American friend. But his natural concern and years of training caused alarm bells to ring. He'd seem the same haunted look on Diane's face, even now, years after they had got them out of that hellhole. And here was the man who had lived through that same nightmare, heading straight back to the same place that had caused him so much pain. No wonder the man was freaking out. But the last thing they needed was a CO in the middle of a psychotic episode…

Colby ran a shaking hand over his face and took a long, slow breath, calming his pounding heart and pushing the lucid memory back into a dark recess in his mind. He let out a sigh and stretched as best he could in the tight constraints of the Land Rover passenger seat. "How are we doing?"

"_We're_ doing fine. It's you I'm worried about, Guv."

"I told you…"

"Not convinced, old son." Danny stared hard at Colby. "You need to tell me you're in control, Granger. Commanding officer on this mission or not, mate, for the sake of those two reprobates back there _and _my own personal safety, I need to know you aint' gonna go lala on me."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean, Danny?" Colby's face was blank, but there was a dangerous edge to his voice.

Danny held his ground, but there was a genuine concern for his friend clearly evident in his voice. "It means, _sir_, that I know how traumatic this is for you, okay? It means that if this is too much…"

"It would be _really _nice if people would stop fucking questioning my ability to cope with a simple fucking mission to get some goddamn Intel from some dick in the middle of a field in a country that just about has running fucking water, let alone anything else!" Colby's hissed words were full of passion and barely contained anger. "So _no_, Danny, I'm _not _gonna go lala on you, as you so beautifully put it. You tellin' me that _you _don't get the odd bad dream now and then?"

"Of course I do, Guv. Just mine ain't fucking with my head when I need it most, ya know?"

Colby glared blankly at Danny, but the Englishman knew that behind the expressionless green eyes, a sharp mind was considering its next move. It would go one of two ways. Either Colby would be furious with Danny for questioning his leadership abilities and even his sanity, or the American would ignore the slight. Danny hoped and prayed it would be the latter… Finally Colby spoke. "You got any water in this damn truck?" His voice was harsh, but quiet. A fleeting smile flashed across the corners of his mouth.

Danny sighed inwardly in relief. "It's a Land Rover, Guv, not a truck…"

"Danny…"

Danny reached back and, ignoring a snorting, protesting Marcus, pushed the man's leg out of the way to get to the supply bag. He pulled a bottle of water from the bag and held it out to Colby.

"Thanks." Colby tore off the plastic cap and drank deeply, the simple act of drinking the cool, clean water grounding him, helping him to dismiss the nightmare to a mere memory. He'd have plenty to talk about with Barnard when he got back…

Danny watched Granger from the corner of his eye as he drained the water bottle. Colby sat back in the passenger seat and closed his eyes for a second. When they snapped open again, the haunted, clouded cast to the normally bright green eyes had cleared. "So." Danny held his breath and waited. He still didn't know how Colby had reacted to his rash decision to speak so freely. Although he considered Colby to be one of his closest friends and allies, he had spoken out of turn to his commanding officer. Any other CO would have had his balls in a wringer by now. But still Colby gave nothing away. The man was probably a fucking _demon_ at poker... Colby stared intently at Danny and then suddenly broke into a broad grin. "Are we nearly there yet?"

Danny scowled. "Don't you bloody start!" He chuckled quietly. "About another hundred miles to go. Border checkpoint was a bit too, um, _interesting, _so I kinda took a detour."

"How big is the hole in the fence you left?"

"Land Rover sized."

"Danny, you're a goddamn vandal."

"The Kosovo government can send the bill to the CIA. Buggered if the British are paying for it!" The pointless banter lightened the atmosphere between the two men, but Danny was still concerned. Colby looked pale and drawn, his attempt to gloss over the nightmare a poor one at best. Colby picked up on his concern and spoke quietly, so as not to wake the others.

"Look Danny, I'm sorry, okay? Sometimes, yeah, it kinda catches up with me. I guess this close to the damn place it's bound to have an effect, whether I want it to or not. But believe me buddy, I'm not going to go all Apocalypse Now on your ass any time soon, you've gotta trust me on that, man. We go in, we do our job and I get you all out safe again. That's my mission. And neither hell nor high water's gonna stop me from doing that, clear?" Colby stared hard at Danny, challenging him to defy him.

Danny backed down.

He knew better than to argue with the big man. He'd seen what Colby was capable of years ago, and he didn't think that the American had lost any of his edge, just because he had a nice office job with the FBI now. Colby Granger was and always would be a first class field agent. And that look of sheer bloody-minded determination in his eyes told Danny that he was back in control of the dark memories that had haunted his dreams. They had been confined back to some mental filing cabinet inside Granger's head, to be dealt with at a later date…

"Clear, Guv."

"Awesome." Colby yawned. "How long have I been asleep?"

"Good few hours, mate. Lucky you don't snore as bad as Marcus McSnory Bowen in the corner there!" Danny jerked a nod over his shoulder at his colleague. Marcus was fast asleep, his mouth hanging open and a small trail of drool dribbling out from the corner of his lips.

"Dude, he's seriously cuttin' some logs back there, ain't he?" Colby grinned as the dark haired northerner let out a snort that reverberated around the cab, muttered incoherently and shuffled onto his right buttock in a desperate attempt to get comfortable.

"You should try sharing a fucking bunk with the bastard! Farts like a fucking camel."

"Whoa, more information than I needed, Dan."

"And it's a wonder the fucker hasn't gone blind. Can't leave his damn dick alo…"

"Danny! Jesus, man, leave me _some _shred of sanity, will you?" Colby grimaced but the broad smile on his face showed that he relished the opportunity to turn the conversation back onto a lighter note.

"Sorry Guv!" Danny grinned. "He's a good bloke, though. Damn near as good as Micky as a tech. Probably hasn't got that unique ability to improvise with two rustyold tin cans and a bit of wet string to get you an Internet connection that Mick's got, but he's fair to middling nevertheless."

Fair to middling. In any other regiment that would indicate that the stocky man was at best, average at his job. For the SAS, the understated complement actually meant that Marcus Owen was an exceptional tech. He was 'good enough'. And that recommendation was certainly good enough for Colby. He chuckled quietly to himself. Danny frowned. "Sommat funny Guv?"

"Just forgot how seat of the pants you guys are sometimes, bud, is all. Nice to be off the leash for once."

"Old Don keeps you screwed down huh?"

"Dude, that means something _totally _different where I come from!" Colby laughed quietly.

"I mean…"

"I know what you meant. And yeah. Sometimes he does keep me on a pretty tight leash. Guess after his experience with me and Diane, he's a touch nervous. But he lets me off now and then."

"That bothers you?" Danny glanced at Colby, a questioning look on his face.

"You're starting to sound like my shrink, Dan."

"You have a _shrink_?"

"Orders. After the last time I kinda got a bit…outta control. Ya know. Red mist and all that." Colby's short, sharp sentences underlined the fact that it was still a raw nerve with him. But Danny still wanted to be certain in his own mind that his friend was really okay. They had just under 100 miles to go. Perfect opportunity to talk things through…

"Well, from what I remember, you had a high old time running with our lot in Afghanistan. Seriously Col, I've never seen Gary so bloody pig in shit happy as when you two were blowing the living daylights outta some Taliban crap-house!"

Colby laughed. "Yeah, that guy sure knew how to set some flash bangs!"

Danny's laugh joined his own and they spent a moment remembering a fallen friend. Eventually, Danny spoke quietly. "They gave him full honours, mate. Dee read the eulogy. Bloody good turnout." He was referring to his friend's funeral. He knew that the fact that the popular and friendly man had been given a good send off would be some comfort to Colby. The two had been close friends and both men would have been happy to have him with them right now.

Colby nodded. "I know. Dee told me." His voice was quiet. Not only was he missing his friend, but he felt the absence of Diane acutely. He stared out of the window for a moment, lost in his own thoughts.

"So what do we do about this fucker's camp after we clean him out of Intel?"

Colby glanced over. "That's a tricky one, bud. As much as I'd like to call a goddamn air strike in and wipe the place off the face of the earth, we do that, their contacts in the US are gonna know in seconds that we're on to them." He paused, frowning in deep contemplation. "No. It has to be subtle, Dan."

"Make it look like an accident."

"Right." Colby nodded back towards Andy. "How good is he?"

"Mate, with all due respect? He was Gary's prodigy. And Gaz said he was a better bang man than he was."

Colby smiled quietly. "Then that's good enough for me." He sat back and closed his eyes, letting the rocking motion of the Land Rover as it bumped over the uneven road lull him back into a state of semi-sleep. A quiet smile settled on his lips.

Danny concentrated back on the driving and grinned to himself. Granger had a surprise planned for the bastards in the camp. And knowing Granger, it wasn't gonna be a _nice_ surprise…

_**TBC…….**_


	6. Gang Banger

Disclaimer and Author's apology

Right then. Firstly, apologies for the lengthy hiatus – both work and the festive season caused me to be somewhat lackadaisical (OOOEEE! Get her!) in my FF writing. Normal service has now been resumed. We'll be back to violence, chases across Eastern Europe and blowing sh!t up next chapter.

Secondly, as always, I do not, have never, and will never have any rights over any of the regular characters of that FABULOUS show Numb3rs (SIGN THE PETITION! WRITE TO NINA TASSLER! _**SAVE NUMB3RS!**_) A-hem, sorry about that…where was I? Oooright, yes, yada yada disclaimer time. I do, however, own the story, the characters of Diane "Scary-pants" Armstrong, Micky "Seriously. _When _do I get my bloody entrance?" Cox and Danny "Can't drive for toffee" Smith plus other assorted Brits. And I'll challenge anyone who says otherwise to a Brussel sprout-eating contest…_and win…_

Roll credits…

* * *

The black SUV skidded to a stop at a police barrier, its red and blue lights illuminating the grill on the front of the car and dancing across the windshield. The doors opened and Don climbed out of the car, staring at the scene in front of him in utter disbelief. "Whoa…" He peeled his sunglasses from around his eyes and stood, hands on his hips, the glasses dangling from one hand.

"What a bloody stupid mess…" The quiet English accent in his ear made him turn and look straight at Diane. Her face was expressionless as she stared at the scene of carnage and devastation, but Don could see that behind the eyes her brain was whirring through the information in front of her. Her gaze suddenly shifted and she turned her head, looking straight back at Don, the emerald green eyes penetrating and hard. But for the first time, he noticed something else. Something he'd seen in Colby's eyes when the man's exacting principles had been shaken by one of the many incidences they saw every day of man's inhumanity towards man. He saw a disgust, an anger and a deep sadness at the sheer waste of human life that lay in front of them. Lives that, for another route less travelled, would not have been cut short in a battle between two gangs over a patch of turf. He saw just how principled Diane was too. Behind the cold, calculating mind lay a decent woman who genuinely cared about ordinary people. Ordinary people who depended on those like Diane, like Colby and like Don to protect them from the horrors that could impact on their mundane, daily lives at a whim. A woman who would do everything she could to protect the innocent and gave the guilty no quarter. She didn't expect any thanks for her job – she just got on and did it. Just like Don, or any of his team, would do…

Nikki peeled away from the two senior agents and walked towards a familiar face. "Doby! Hey, Doby!" She broke into a jog as the uniformed police officer turned towards the sound of his name. He saw a mass of curls bouncing wildly towards him, framing a pair of brown eyes and a determined look that was instantly familiar. He stopped and watched his old partner jog up to him and smiled warmly at her.

"Bedacourt! Guessed your people'd show up pretty damn soon."

Nikki stopped beside the man and nodded over her shoulder towards a street strewn with bodies and the wreckage of a battle fought on suburban streets. "What the hell happened here?"

She listened as Doby quickly went through the details and muttered her thanks to her former colleague, patting on the arm in a brief gesture of solidarity. Three LAPD officers had lost their lives in the firefight. Nikki felt the familiar anger bubble up inside her – the one that riled any former police officer upon the news that friends and colleagues had fallen in the line of duty. A mix of pride and grief at the loss of another brave officer. She turned and jogged back towards Don and Diane, who had ducked under the tape barrier and were walking past the smouldering wreck of a Lincoln.

"LAPD knew something was about to go down, but until it all kicked off, they had no idea it was gonna be this bad." Nikki slowed to a walk and fell in alongside Don. "Doby says it almost seemed pre-arranged. But until they hear from the Gang unit, we don't know details. Three police officers died, Don." There was a note of sad accusation in her voice.

"I'm sorry Nikki. But we're looking at a pile of bodies much more than three right here." Don stopped in front of a prone gang banger, a life reduced to a thin red trickle of blood that snaked from the bullet hole in the side of the youth's head into a drain at the side of the road. He couldn't have been more than 17 at most.

Diane crouched next to the body, ignoring it completely. With one gloved hand, she picked up the M103 sniper rifle and studied it carefully. "The numbers have been filed off. An x-ray should be able to pick up a ghost image in the metal underneath, though. Whoever took a nail file to this was a rank amateur." She turned the gun over carefully, studying every inch of the weapon. She let the rifle clatter back onto the floor and stood up, dusting her hands off against the legs of her jeans.

"Fourteen dead, twelve injured. Including three damn fine police officers. Agent Eppes." The clipped southern accent made Don turn towards the sound of a voice he recognised instantly. He gave the man a small, somber smile.

"Gary. Good to see you."

"Wish I could say the same, Eppes. Seems every time we meet, it's under extenuating circumstances." A small smile played around the older man's lips and he extended a hand in greeting. Don shook it firmly – he and Gary Walker had worked together on many occasions and he had the utmost respect for the man and his 20 years experience in the Gang Unit.

"This is Agent Diane Armstrong. CTC. Dee, this is Lieutenant Gary Walker. LAPD Gang Unit and the man to go to for things like this."

"Agent Armstrong. What's Counter Terrorism's interest in a gang banger's war?" Walker held his hand out again, momentarily surprised by the obvious power in the woman's grip.

"The source of their ordnance, Lieutenant Walker." The soft London accent took Walker back again. He hadn't expected a Brit. The powerfully built woman flashed a brief smile at Walker and released the grip on his hand.

Walker nodded. "The raid at the base?"

"Two and two seems to make fourteen, in this case." Diane nodded towards the sniper rifle. "Has your unit got any idea where this sort of riffraff would get their hands on a top of the range US sniper rifle? I mean, it's not exactly the weapon of choice for your average gang member, I would presume?"

"You presume right. We had word there was a flush of armoury on the streets about twenty four hours ago. Seems our gangs here had an old score to settle and decided to do it in some style." Walker's face was unreadable, as always. "Been a lot of back and forth recently between the two. Tit for tat killings. Seems things came to a head."

Don tipped his baseball cap back and scratched idly at his hair. "We'd really like to know who supplied those weapons, Gary. We could use any help you can give us on this one."

"Who's their normal supplier?" The Englishwoman wasn't standing on ceremony here. And Walker liked that. The straight-talking Englishwoman seemed to be a no-nonsense type of agent. He also instinctively noticed a military bearing to her stance and manner. Probably an officer, if he was any judge. And if she was counter terrorism, the woman obviously had a brain. He had picked up the same kind of vibe the first time he had met Agent Granger. Gary Walker was intrigued…

"Usual suppliers don't handle this kind of hardware, Agent Armstrong."

"So who does?"

"Nobody on our books."

"So we have new players in town."

"You'd know more than I do on that score, Agent." Gary Walker smiled enigmatically at her. "I know how you spooks love to keep tabs on everything deemed to be a little out of the ordinary, shall we say?"

Don rolled his eyes. For a fleeting second, he felt sorry for Diane. The woman was confronted by animosity everywhere she went. The life of a spook must be an incredibly lonely one…

Diane stared expressionless at Walker. She eventually sighed quietly and a flicker of a smile crossed her face. Nikki watched her closely. It would seem to most people that Diane had been annoyed by the flippant comment, but Nikki was finally starting to get a handle on this extraordinary woman. She'd actually found Gary Walker's comments amusing… "Got that out of your system now?" Walker nodded and smiled again. "Good. As I was saying…"

"As you were saying, Agent Armstrong, and I completely agree with you, this hardware is way above most gang banger's pay grade. Looks like this was a tempter from a new player."

"A tempter?" Nikki couldn't help chiming in.

"A tempter is like a free back of crack from a drug dealer. Draws the customer in, get them hooked, then start charging. Big time."

"So you're sayin' these guns were on sale or _return_?" Nikki's voice was filled with disbelief. "Don't hold with no gang banger's I've ever heard of. _Or _arms dealers. Kinda a quick way to go outta business, I'd've thought."

"Or a damn good way to send us off chasing our own tails." Diane frowned, staring down at the discarded gun that lay at her feet. She looked up sharply. "These two gangs. Who's their masters at arms?"

Gary smiled quietly to himself. He'd been right. The woman _was _ex-military…"One's dead, but we've got the other in custody."

"We need to speak to him, Lieutenant."

Gary smiled again at the English pronunciation of the word Lieutenant but nodded graciously. "He's not exactly the brightest torch in the box, _Captain_, but I'm pretty sure he'd be quite easy to persuade to co-operate."

Diane stared quizzically at the Lieutenant for a few seconds. She'd been introduced as _Agent_ Armstrong, not Captain…

"I guessed you were ex-military by your bearing, and the way you speak?" Gary chuckled quietly. "_Gotta _be an officer. Knew a Captain in your Parachute regiment when I was in Desert Storm. Spoke in exactly the same way."

Again, Diane merely stared at him for a few seconds and then let out a short laugh - a laugh of genuine amusement. "Oh, you're good, Walker. You're very good!" She patted him warmly on the shoulder and walked off to examine the other weapons that littered the road. Gary stared after her and then turned to Don. Don merely grinned and pointed at the Englishwoman.

"Colby's girlfriend."

"Ya don't say? I'd never've guessed that." Gary looked straight at Don and raised an eyebrow. "Like peas in a pod those two, aren't they?"

"You get used to them." Don smiled briefly and followed Diane into the devastation visited on an ordinary street on a sunny LA afternoon…

3333333333

Jayzee sat nervously in the interview room. He'd figured on being arrested and questioned by LAPD, not the goddamn FBI. He was way out of his depth here. And as nervous as a chicken in a fast food store…

The door opened and a pretty black woman walked in, a mass of curls framing a flawless face. Jayzee smiled and leaned back in his chair, admiring the woman from every angle. Things were looking _sweeeet…_ "Hey baby! What's a _fine _lookin' woman like you doin' in here?"

Nikki stared coldly at the youth and slapped a file on the table. "Bustin' your ass, _brother_!" She sat down opposite him and stared hard at him. "One question. Where'd you get the guns?"

"Oh, c'mon baby! Don't be all bitchin' on me like that! Jayzee wants to take some time to get to _know _you, girlfriend!"

Nikki smiled slowly, a menacing little smile that made Jayzee wonder if his usual full-on approach that he used in the clubs and bars, relying on his cheeky smile, smooth talking and that _little _hint of gangland danger that was like an aphrodisiac to most of the honeys, was actually going to cut it here. Probably not…

The door opened and a tall, powerfully built woman walked in. Jayzee immediately felt the presence of the woman and how the atmosphere changed as she entered – it was like being locked in a very small room with a very pissed off panther…

"Anything?" The red haired woman spoke directly to the younger, black woman, who shook her head in response.

"Nope. Jayzee here thinks it's smart to start hittin' on a federal agent. Walker was right about this one." There was a great deal of amusement in the woman's voice. The red haired woman smiled slowly at Jayzee.

"Really? Well, here's the thing, my friend. You and I are going to retire to another room, in which we have the very latest technology in polygraph testing equipment." Jayzee looked blankly at her and she rolled her eyes, sighing deeply. "_Lie detectors_, my friend, lie detectors. Good grief... Agent Bedacourt? If you would, please…" The red haired woman motioned towards Jayzee's shackled hands.

Nikki glanced at her in bewilderment but a simple look from Diane told her to play along. She rallied. Smiling slowly, she unlocked the handcuffs that chained Jayzee to the loop in the desk and motioned for him to stand up. She stood smirking at the youth as he stretched his back. Jayzee paused…

"What?"

"Ever done a polygraph, Jayzee?"

"A _what_, now?"

"A lie detector test."

"No, why?"

"Oh, I think you'll find it _real _interesting!" Nikki smiled brightly and gripped Jayzee's arm, pushing him towards the door. The red haired woman stood to one side, opening the door and letting Jayzee and Nikki pass her. As Nikki walked past Diane, she winked briefly.

Diane smiled warmly and muttered quietly to herself as Nikki led Jayzee into the next room. "Good girl!"…

Diane shut the door and followed them into the next room. As she walked in, Nikki noticed that a Xerox machine had been positioned in the corner of the room. Diane walked in and shut the door behind her.

"Agent Bedacourt, if you would place the right hand of the suspect on the scanning panel, please?"

Nikki was doing everything she could to stop herself from laughing out loud. If this worked…

She lifted the top of the Xerox machine and pressed Jayzee's hand onto the glass. Diane had moved to the control panel of the machine and pressed a button. The machine whirred into life and she turned to Jayzee. "Now, I need to explain how this works. I'm going to ask you a series of questions and you will answer them. Each time you give me an answer, we will scan your hand. Understand?"

"No…"

"Good. First question. Your full name, please."

"Jayzee Beatmaster."

Diane stared hard at Jayzee. "Your _real _name, if you please." The note of authority in the woman's voice was the most chilling thing Jayzee had ever heard. His bottle went…

"John Bartholomew Clump."

Nikki had to turn away…

Even Diane struggled to stop a broad grin from spreading across her face. "_Seriously? _Wow, okay then…" She pressed the button and the Xerox spat out a perfect copy of his hand. "Righty-ho, seems like the machine's calibrated. Next question. Your home address, please." Jayzee duly told her and again, the machine spat a perfect copy of his handprint out. "Good. You're the master at arms for the twenty third street runners?" Again, a perfect handprint. "Did you get your guns from your usual supplier?"

"Yes."

Diane bent down to retrieve the handprint and frowned. She glanced at Jayzee and held the photocopy up. Across the palmprint were three letters. **LIE**. Diane moved closer and held the paper an inch from his face. Her voice whispered softly in his ear…"The machine says you're _lying, _Clump!_"_

Jayzee lost it completely. He tried to back away from the woman but Nikki's hands gripped him firmly on the arms. "You wanna try that again, _Mister Clump_?" Nikki desperately tried to be as menacing as she could, but the utterly ridiculous nature of the situation and Jayzee's staggering stupidity made it almost impossible not to laugh…

"Okay! Okay! I got them from this guy! Said he had a lotta real heavy hardware for sale!"

"Name!"

"I don't know!"

"Not good enough. Name. Give me a name, John Bartholomew Clump! GIVE ME A NAME! A name! _Now_!" Diane fired the words at him at machine gun pace. He was completely off-balance mentally and was starting to panic. This wasn't like any police interrogation he'd ever been through…

"I SWEAR! I DON'T KNOW! We just knew him as Cookie!"

"You bought military hardware off a bloke named after a _biscuit_? Are you _trying _to piss me off, Clump?"

"NO! Jesus lady, that's the last goddamn thing I'd wanna do! I want a lawyer! _Right now!_"

Diane stepped back and smiled calmly. "Of course. Agent Bedacourt? Would you mind arranging for legal representation for our miscreant here? Thank you. Mister Clump?" Jayzee looked at the woman, deeply unsettled by her presence. "I will have further questions for you later. I hope that you're co-operation means that I won't have to employ the polygraph machine again?" Jayzee looked blankly at Diane for a moment and she pointed at the photocopier. He followed her gesture and turned back, nodding furiously. Diane smiled again. "Good. Thank you."

She walked out of the room and closed the door behind her. Turning to her right, she entered the observation room and looked at Don. Their gazes locked and the two agents immediately burst out laughing at the same time. "I do _not _believe you used that one on him!" Don could hardly breathe from laughing so hard.

"I do _not _believe he fuckin' _fell _for it!" Diane chuckled merrily and tossed the incriminating handprint on the desk. "I'd done a couple more underneath just in case he needed convincing but bugger me if he didn't swallow the first damn hook that came along!"

Don nodded, still laughing quietly. "So we have a name. Cookie. Short for Cookson? Cook?"

"I'll give our Mister Clump a half hour to stew and I'll try and get some more information. Right now I just want to keep him off balance. Any chance of stalling the lawyer?"

"I'm sure we should be able to do that."

"Good." Diane turned as Nikki entered the room. Her face was lit up by a broad smile.

"Man, I've heard about that Xerox trick but I _swear _I _never _thought it would actually _work_!"

"It's an old one, Nikki. You need a subject who's achived a certain level of stupid to be able to pull it off, but that was adequately provided by our Mister Clump in there." The smile melted away for a second. "Let's not forget what's at stake here, though. He may be candidate for a misdameanour stupidity charge, but if we can get him to roll over, the information he could give us could be vital." She glanced at Nikki and a brief smile flickered across her lips. "Well done in there, by the way. You played along beautifully. Good to see you can think on your feet." Diane patted her on the shoulder and walked out, planning her next interrogation with Jayzee. Nikki watched her leave and then turned back to Don, who smiled warmly at her.

"You impressed her."

"Really?" There was a note of hopeful optimism in the woman's voice. Don smiled again. She was so keen to prove herself to everyone, and the praise she'd received from Diane had obviously meant a lot to her.

"Yeah, really. And that ain't easy to do, believe me." He nodded to the closed door. "You could learn a lot from Agent Armstrong, Nikki."

Nikki jerked a thumb towards the two-way mirror and the lonely figure of a frightened and confused Jayzee in the next room. "You want me to get a public attorney for him?"

"Let him clench up for a bit, huh?"

Nikki glanced at the confused youth and smiled. "Man, I'm startin' to realise that you guys really do things your _own_ way, don't ya?"

"Whatever it takes, Nikki." Don nodded sagely. "Whatever it takes…"

_**TO BE CONTINUED…**_


	7. Close Encounters

Disclaimer

(Attempts to drag new way of writing disclaimer out of arse…)

Once upon a time, there was a little show that dared to be different. Instead of treating its audience like a bunch of muppets, it actually assumed that the buggers had a brain and decided to try something really revolutionary. They decided to use math as a ratings grabber. And so, Numb3rs was born. And it was good. Everso good. Which is why any decision to shorten season 6 and then cancel it is UTTER MADNESS AND MUST BE FOUGHT TOOTH AND NAIL! WRITE TO NINA TASSLER! SIGN THE PETITION! SAVE NUMB3RS!

Trouble is, I have absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with it, and have no authority, domain or control over its regular characters.

What I _do _have, though, is complete and utter control over this 'ere story, the characters of Diane Armstrong, Micky Cox, Danny Smith and other assorted Brit-raff. And I'll take a pointy pokey stick to anyone who says otherwise.

Usual warning goes out for bad language, violence and completely unintelligible Cockney slang.

Roll Credits…

* * *

The Land Rover jerked violently as it leapt over a pothole in the track. The sudden movement jolted Colby out of a dark, dreamless sleep and his eyes snapped open. A loud curse from the back of the cab told him that the other passengers had suffered the same rude awakening as he had.

"Fer _fuck's sake _ Smith! You daft southern bastard, are you _trying _to kill us all?" Marcus rubbed his head and glowered furiously at the back of Danny Smith's head. Colby glanced across at the driver. Danny looked deadly serious.

"Can it, Bowen." Danny glanced into the driver's mirror at his livid passenger in the back. Marcus frowned quizzically as he noticed the intentness in the man's eyes. "We need to stop here." The Land Rover rolled to a halt, and Danny quickly reversed the truck into the bushes, disappearing from the road and into the shadows. He killed the lights and the engine quickly.

"Problem?" Colby's voice was sharp, as he tried to remember what it was like to have a back that wasn't fused solid. He stretched gingerly, trying to persuade aching muscles to slot back into their allocated places.

"We've got company." Danny frowned.

All the men were immediately awake and alert. "Idea who?" Colby was already checking his sidearms. The others were doing the same, preparing for a possible confrontation.

"Best guess? Local filth."

"He means the Police, Guv." Andy pulled back the breach on an automatic pistol and checked the clip.

Marcus scowled and briefly examined the edge of a razor-sharp Bowie knife. "Okay, first thing is to grab these bastards. Then I wanna know who the _fuck _they are and how the _fuck _they know we're here!" He slotted the knife into its pouch and grabbed an M4 rifle.

"No." Colby spoke quietly. "We evade. We don't need to know who they are. All we need to do is lose the nosy sons of bitches for the moment and get on with the mission. Danny, with me. Marcus, Andy, cut left. Zero contact unless _absolutely necessary._. Understood?"

The three men answered as one. "Guv." With that simple acknowledgement, they all exited silently out of the Land Rover, pulled down their balaclavas and disappeared into the bushes…

333333333

The rusting Toyota truck spluttered to a stop. The hard surface of the track left little in the way of evidence of the Land Rover's passing, and what tracks were visible had been quickly covered by the men. The two teams lay on opposite sides of the road, hidden by the bushes and shrubbery that showed the relentless march of the forest as it encroached on the road. The teams were staggered so as not to get caught in each other's crossfire should a confrontation develop. They lay motionless, their faces covered by balaclavas and the black combats and flack jackets making them impossible to see in the gloom of the forest track.

Colby had a ground level view of the front left side of the Toyota. He heard a loud creak as the door opened and a boot stepped onto the track, inches from his face. He held his breath, utterly motionless, completely invisible… A second boot stepped down and the unknown man turned and paused for a moment, the boots crunching in the lose gravel. Colby slowly lowered his face to the ground as the toes of the boots swivelled in his direction. The man was looking directly into the forest, _directly _at Colby…

Colby kept his face pressed into the icy cold leaf mulch of the forest floor. The woody scent of rotting oak leaves filled his nostrils. Silently, fervently, Colby willed the man to not see him, to not suddenly raise the alarm with a shout and unleash a hail of bullets at the prone American. He was also silently and _passionately_ praying to _any freakin' god that would listen_ to let his black clothing be enough of a camouflage...

For what seemed like an eternity, the man scanned the black forest, unable to see anything. He didn't think to look down. He didn't think that his quarry would be lying prone, inches in front of his boots…

A crunch on the gravel told Colby that the man had moved position. He moved his head a fraction of an inch, just enough to glance upwards. The boots had moved back onto the track and the man walked towards the front of the truck, the lights like a halo around him. He stood for a moment, staring down the track, his hands on his hips. He let out a grunt of disgust and turned abruptly. Colby could now see the face of their pursuer.

His blood ran cold…

The man grunted again and marched back to the cab of the Toyota, wrenching the protesting door open. He spoke quickly in Albanian and Colby listened intently to every word…"You were wrong. There are no tracks. They must have turned off earlier. We go back." He climbed into the cab and the engine spluttered into life. He heard the gears crunching and screaming in protest – the clutch had long since given up the ghost on this particular truck. Suddenly the Toyota's reversing lights went on and the back of the truck swung around as it attempted to turn on the tight track. The truck reversed backwards.

Straight towards where Colby was lying hidden in the undergrowth…

From his hiding spot, Danny Smith could see what was happening. It was _not _good…"Oh, _SHIT!" _Danny swore silently but with real passion. The truck was inches from where the American was concealed, prone and utterly helpless! He tensed, ready to explode from the bush and fill the cab with bullets, praying to _any freakin' god that would listen _that Colby had the good damn sense to _move his bloody arse_…

Colby saw the wheels spinning on the loose track. Flinching as he got a faceful of grit spat at him from the back end of the truck, he frantically calculated the exact position of the wheels and, at the very last second, tucked his arms tight into his body and straightened his legs and rolled once to his left…

The left wheels of the Toyota skidded to a stop exactly where he had been lying and the truck's gearbox screamed again in protest as the driver fought his way, clutchless, out of reverse and into first gear. For a split second, Colby lay under the truck, staring up at the rusting underbelly of the dilapidated four by four. The Toyota shot forward, spinning a cloud of dirt and stones behind it and swung back onto the track…

All four men stayed statue-still where they were for 30 seconds. Danny could see the taillights of the truck dancing down the track and finally disappearing into the darkness. He let out a low whistle and Marcus and Andy trotted quickly over to the other side of the road, their eyes hard and serious. "Where's the Guv?"

"Right here." Colby stepped out of the shadows and peeled the balaclava off. He puffed out his cheeks and whistled quietly. "Man, that was _close! _And his undercarriage is _fucked_!" He suddenly grinned broadly. "Haven't seen the business end of a truck that close up since I sorted out my transmission last year!" He let out a quiet laugh.

Danny frowned briefly. "Did you catch a butcher's at the driver, Guv?" Colby stared blankly at Danny and shook his head, a slight hand gesture indicating he had not understood the question. "Butchers? Butcher's hook? _Look?_ Jesus, Col, you're Cockney's well bleedin' rusty! Did you _see the bloody driver!"_

Realisation dawned on Colby's face. "Oh _right_, gotchya. Jesus man, don't you _ever _speak the Queen's goddamn English?" He shook his head. "No. No I didn't see him." Colby looked around. "Okay. Where are we?"

"Twenty clicks from the village. This trail leads north west for about five miles then swings around. Comes out at the back of the village. Barn's two miles west of the primary target. Gives us a bit of a bugger of a detour, but it keeps us off the main road."

"Good. Let's get the fuck outta here then, shall we?" Colby turned and trotted back towards the Land Rover.

Guv?" Danny spoke quietly. They couldn't risk the chance that their pursuers had doubled back and may even be listening to their conversation right now. Andy kept a close eye on the empty track, ready to call the alarm if the truck or its occupants returned. Marcus scanned the forest around them, looking for any approach on foot. Colby stopped and turned, his features almost hidden in the darkness. But Danny could see the two cold, green eyes staring back at him. There was nothing there. Nothing to give him any clue as to what the American was thinking… "So who the hell were those fuckers?"

"No idea. Anyway, it's not important right now, Danny. We need to get to our destination. We can worry about them later." Colby's voice was neutral – again, not a hint of emotion. He turned away and disappeared into the gloom of the forest to extract the Land Rover from its hiding place.

Danny watched him in the moonlight. He frowned to himself and followed his comrades back to the Land Rover, studying how the ex Delta Force soldier moved. You could tell a lot about a man by the body language. The big American was almost silent on his feet, his movements fluid and confident. 'He hasn't lost any of his edge', the British ex-soldier thought to himself.

Which made Danny Smith wonder all the more why he had lied to him about seeing the driver…

333333333

The lift doors pinged open and David Sinclair groaned audibly and covered his eyes with his hand. "Oh _no_…"

"Sinclair! Bugger me! Fancy meeting you here, old fruit! How's it hanging then, big guy?"

"Micky Cox. Wow. My day just got a _whole _lot better..." Despite his initial response, David Sinclair couldn't help grinning broadly as a powerfully built man with cropped, dark hair and the most mischievous twinkle David had ever seen in his eye barged his way into the elevator.

"Got off at the wrong floor. I think I scared the thunderin' shite out of your fraud unit receptionist!" Micky Cox grinned again and smacked the elevator button. The door closed with a creak and David turned to the man with a huge grin on his face. He held his hand out and Micky Cox, ex British Army SAS tech expert and general ner'do'well gripped it firmly. He grinned back at David. "Good to see you, David. Been a while."

"You too. Don told me to expect company from our cousins from over the Pond."

"Nah mate, I'm one of your lot now. Me and herself decided that Six didn't pay enough and got ourselves employed by your bunch of dodgy bastards in Washington. She's deployed over 'ere, I'm tearing up your nation's capital and getting thrown out of right posh bars just around the corner from Obama's gaff. Still a shit-load of paperwork to do, though."

"So Diane's in on this one?"

"How much have you been told?"

"Honestly? Not a lot." David scratched absentmindedly at his neck. "I got a quick rundown from Don last night. He told me we're down a man, though."

Micky nodded. "Col."

"Yeah."

"He didn't have a choice, Dave. Orders, mate. Orders." Micky's voice was quiet. He knew how much David cared about his partner, and how much he hated the way that his past kept coming back to haunt him.

David wanted to hit out. But the spectre that seemingly dogged Colby's every move was a shadowy form – something he _couldn't_ hit, couldn't fight. And that pissed him off. But what pissed him off even more was that his friend and partner had just seemed to stoically accept his fate without flinching. David was a civilian. He could never understand that military compulsion to follow orders, regardless. Orders. We all followed them. David too. He followed damn orders every day. But what if those orders were wrong? David was beginning to wonder if the FBI really was the place he thought it was going to be. Working with Colby over the past year had shown him an underbelly of corruption and treason. It had shown him just how power-hungry those who gave the orders could become. He had no doubt whatsoever in Don Eppes' integrity and would follow any order he gave. But what of those _above _Don? He had seen how even the most authoritative of people could still be rotten on the inside. He had been the one to put the handcuffs on the Deputy Director. He had been the one who had been forced to watch as the supposed figurehead of the FBI was led away to a prison cell. He was beginning to understand why Megan had resigned…

"I know. It's just…well, he was _finally _getting back on his feet, man. Ya know?" Despite his self-doubt and personal inner conflict with the whole damn situation, David's obvious concern for his friend and partner was very much apparent in his voice.

"Sinclair, you know Colby. He'll be right as rain, that one."

"I hope you're right about that."

Micky was quiet for a moment. He frowned, and then hit the control panel, activating the emergency stop. The elevator shuddered to a halt and Micky turned to David. "How much do you know about what happened in Kosovo?" The direct question and the matter of fact tone of Micky's voice took David by surprise.

"Not much. Colby never talked to me about it. And I got the feelin' he didn't want to, either. So I never pressed it." David frowned. "That's the thing about Granger. He's damn good at keepin' secrets."

"It's his job, David."

"I know. It still kinda irks me, though."

"That doesn't change the fact that he's your friend, mate."

David looked up sharply and his eyes were hard. "That goes without saying, Micky. Like you said. He's not just my friend. He's my _partner_. I trust him utterly, man, be in no doubt about that. Don't mean I _hate _the fact that he has to do it, though."

Micky frowned. "Why such a rabid hatred of all things spook related, David?"

David stared for a second at Micky and slowly smiled. "Colby's not the only one who can keep _secrets_, my friend. Be damn sure of that."

A broad grin spread over Micky Cox's face. "Oh you _naughty_ boy, Sinclair! You been keepin' a few secrets of your own?"

"What _did _happen in Kosovo, Micky?" David's voice told Micky that he was not going to get any answers from him any time soon…

Micky chuckled quietly and wagged an accusatory finger at David. "Ooh, nice side-step, Sinclair. We'll return to this conversation another time, old son." His expression instantly changed and he leaned back against the wall of the elevator and sighed, a serious and deeply sad look in his normally happy, carefree eyes. "Kosovo was a mess, David. A fucking mess. We lost some good people over there. We damn near lost Diane and Colby as well." Micky shook his head. "Ya know, thinkin' about it? The state they were in when we got 'em back? It might've been better for both of them if…" Micky's voice tailed off. He couldn't, even after all these years, bring himself to say it. He looked up at David, his face serious. "Everything over the past year has been a direct result of what happened there, seven years ago. _Seven years, _David. That's a fuckin' long time waitin' to get yerself some closure, mate." He shrugged. "I dunno, old son, I think I _am_ right, ya know? I think Colby'll be fine." He raised an eyebrow at David. "If he gets the closure he's lookin' for. He'll be just fine."

"That's a damn strange attitude to take, Micky."

"You haven't been around many Special Forces boys, old son, have ya?"

"Only Colby. And you lunatics, of course."

Micky's face twitched with the briefest of smiles. "Oh, lunatics we may be, me old china, lunatics to a fuckin' man and woman." The smile vanished and for a split second David saw a completely different side of the normally jovial, annoyingly cheerful Brit. He saw a hardened professional. A cold, calculating and clinical mind. Exactly the same kind of Jekyll and Hyde characteristics he saw in his friend and partner. Micky was right. They were a breed apart… Micky pushed himself off the side of the lift and strolled back to the control panel. He pressed the start button and the lift jerked into motion. He turned and faced David directly. "But it doesn't do to underestimate just how _fuckin' _difficult us bastards are to kill, my friend. Or the fact that if you _do _try and kill us, you better make it damn good because believe me, you do _not _want someone like Colby getting back up after you've tried puttin' 'im down, mate." He scratched idly at his ear. "We've got a job to do, Sinclair. So has Granger." He looked up, his face deadly serious. "Best thing we can do for Col right now is do the best bloody job we possibly can this end. Savvy?" He suddenly grinned broadly and the doors pinged open. He glanced out at the open door and then back at the bewildered looking FBI agent. "We're here then." Micky beamed broadly and indicated to the open door. David took one last, amused look at the jester-like Brit and stepped back into the Pen…

333333333

"David! Hey, welcome back, brother!" Don clapped his friend on the shoulder warmly. "Sorry to drag you away from your hostage negotiation training, bud."

"Don, honestly?" David smiled. "It's no hardship."

"That bad, huh?" Don returned the smile as they walked into the Pen.

"_That _bad. See we have company then." He nodded back over his shoulder to the still grinning Brit.

Don smiled. "Yeah. Kinda glad of it too. We need to brief." He indicated the open door of the war room and David strolled in, preparing himself for a long and detailed briefing. Don turned back and stretched out a hand towards Micky. "Cox. Good to have you here."

"Eppes. Good to be here. Dee about?"

"She's in the war room. Come on through."

Micky Cox followed the American into the room and nodded curtly at Diane. "Guv."

"Cox. You're late, you bloody amateur." She glanced up and raised an eyebrow at her countryman.

"Plane was delayed, you…well, I _would _say hard nosed bitch control freak, but the last time I said that you kicked my arse ten shades of fuckin' purple for a week." Micky smiled back and dumped a collection of luggage on the table. Unzipping a black bag, he pulled out a laptop and a handful of flashdrives, holding one up for Diane to see. "Got everything we need."

"Good. About bloody time." She snatched the flashdrive out of his hand and put a friendly hand on his shoulder. She smiled at her colleague, a genuine and warm smile.

David was intrigued by the interaction. The banter was not dissimilar to the common little bickers he had with Colby every day. Insults peppered with genuine affection and friendship, short, no nonsense reports mixed effortlessly with a fleeting dash of command from Diane and obvious respect and complete obedience from Micky. Colby was right. She was every inch an officer…

"Looks like we actually got ourselves a team at last." Don sat back on the table and crossed his arms. But the absence of Colby's familiar form was jarring. He realised just how much of an integral part of the team the resident spook, as David had often referred to him as, really was. He just hoped and prayed that, wherever Colby was right now, he was safe…

3333333333

"'Ere we are Guv, home, sweet fuckin' home." Danny rolled the Land Rover to a stop and switched off the engine, leaving the headlights on to illuminate the gloom. The four men climbed out of the vehicle into the interior of a vast and tumbledown barn. Andy and Marcus trotted back to the huge double doors and dragged them shut. Colby switched on a powerful torch and scanned the building. A rickety set of stairs led to a second level walkway and in the far corner of the roof an area had been partitioned off as an office. Danny pointed.

"Up there." He pulled open the back of the Land Rover and hauled out a black holdall. Pivoting, he tossed the bag back to Marcus, who caught it deftly. Quickly and efficiently, Danny unloaded the rest of the bags, tossing them to each man in turn. He shut the door of the Land Rover carefully, making as little noise as possible. "There aren't any neighbours for about two miles in each direction. This place has been abandoned since the war." Colby glanced up. A gaping hole in the roof gave him a picture window view of the night sky above them. It was cold – bitterly cold. The stars were sharp pinpoints of light in an inky black sky. The opening was obviously a battle scar, probably from an RPG. "Still, probably wise to err on the side of caution, Guv."

Still staring at the hole in the roof, Colby nodded. "Agreed." He expertly scanned the interior of the barn. It was old, it was dilapidated, but it was defendable. Smith had made a good selection. "We'll take it in turns. Two hours on. I'll take first watch."

"We'll set up in the office."

Colby turned and smiled quietly. "Make sure you boil up a pot of coffee for starters, huh?"

Danny nodded and grinned. "One mug of Nato issue comin' up, sir!"

"Jesus Danny, don't call me sir!" Colby scowled, embarrassed at the formal title.

"I can call you buggerlugs if you'd prefer." Danny grinned. "Or arsehole, or dickhead, or Yank wussy or…"

"Yeah, any of those'll do just fine." Colby smiled back, the barrack-room banter making him feel at ease. "Except maybe the Yank wussy one. What in the hell _is _a wussy anyhow? Actually," he held a hand up before Danny could come back with a snappy reply. "Don't worry. I can figure it out." He grinned again and jerked a thumb towards the door. "I'll do a reccy of the outside, check our friends haven't doubled back on us." Grabbing an M4 carbine out of the ammunition bag and ramming a clip home into each of the two side arms that sat in thigh holsters on each leg, he turned and headed towards the small entrance at the side of the main double doors.

Danny watched him head towards the door and frowned. "I'll bring you a cup of java in five." Colby waved a hand back in acknowledgement and disappeared through the door. For a second, Danny Smith stared motionless at the peeling paint of the door. He was sure of it now. Colby _had _seen the driver of that Toyota. And it had him spooked…

33333333

Danny let out a low whistle to alert Colby that he was approaching. He didn't want the big American to assume that he was an unfriendly. He'd seen the two battle knifes Colby had nestling in his belt against each kidney. He also knew just how damn good the Yank was with a knife, and how fast…

He felt a gentle pressure in his side and froze. Every sense was on full alert. The pressure was the result of the point of a battle knife pushing into his jacket. An _American _battle knife..."Sloppy, Smithy, very, very sloppy." The soft American accent came out of the darkness. And directly _behind_ Danny. Danny scowled in personal chastisement and turned.

"Sorry, Guv."

"You need to be sharper than that, Dan. We're up against a real smart enemy here. Doesn't pay to underestimate them just because the country is falling down around their goddamn ears. Don't let that fool you." Danny felt the pressure leave his side and he turned, holding a cup out.

"Brought you a cuppa tea, Guv."

"Maybe I _should've_ shanked you, Dan…"

"Coffee smells too strong. You said we were going for zero contact. Thought it wouldn't be a bad idea not to give ourselves away. Sir." Danny grinned. "Sorry. _Buggerlugs_." He nodded at the cup.

Colby grinned warmly and took the cup, muttering a quick thanks. The night was freezing and Colby welcomed any warm drink as a defence against the plummeting temperatures. Danny took a mouthful of his own tea. "Guv, permission to speak freely?"

Colby frowned briefly. "Of course."

"Our little problem earlier. Why'd you lie to me about not having seen the driver?"

"Bud, I had a worm's eye view of the bottom of the truck and his goddamn boots. That's all."

"For fuck's sake Col, I _know _you saw him. So what gives?" Danny's voice was a harsh whisper and he frowned angrily at the American.

Colby stared blankly at the Englishman, his expression utterly unreadable. Danny flinched inwardly. He had seen exactly the same completely blank expression before on Diane. Usually when she was _seriously _pissed at you. The blank expression hid a dangerously controlled but violent anger that could get the unwary killed _real _quick…

"You question my orders, my actions or my decisions one more time Smith, and I'll either personally shoot you _right _between the fucking eyes or put you onto the next goddamn shit wagon heading back to Athens. Are we clear on that?" Colby's voice was perfectly level and calm. He sniffed sharply, and his face for a split second was a dark mask of lethal fury waiting to be unleashed. Then, in an instant, it was gone and the calm, almost serene expression was back…

"Yes, Guv." Danny answered immediately, subconsciously snapping to attention.

Colby sighed and he laid a gentle hand on Danny's shoulder. "Listen Danny, I'm sorry, okay? But I cannot have this mission fucked up in any way, shape or form. Too many lives are at stake. We could be lookin' at another nine eleven here, bud. I can't let that happen." He sat down on a frozen tree stump and took a mouthful of the hot tea. His hand dropped back down and he studied the inside of the mug intently for a few seconds. "I did see the driver." He looked up. This time, Danny could see much more than just a neutral mask. He saw a dark anger in the man's eyes.

And fear.

Danny was confused. He'd known Colby Granger for years. They'd worked together many times. The big American was one of his closest friends and in all those years he'd never seen the man scared by anything. His commanding officer, Colonel Bridgewater, had summed up Colby in one, succinct expression. "That bloody Yank is suicidally brave..."

"Guv?"

"His name is Alexi Valamov. He was a guard at the camp they held me in..." Colby paused, taking a mouthful of tea and working out in his mind what he was going to tell Danny. How much the Englishman needed to know. And to try and unchoke the words from the back of his throat… "He…he's a real fan of battery acid. And a _real_ fan of knowing just how much you need to drip into an open wound to get the maximum effect." Colby abruptly threw the dregs of the tea into the undergrowth, shaking the last drop from the mug. He stood up quickly and held the empty mug out to Danny. "I don't know what he's doing here, or why. Could be just co-incidence. But ya know? Bein' around a math professor this long's taught me one thing."

"Which is?"

"There ain't no such damn thing as a co-incidence, Danny."

Danny frowned. He spoke quietly and quickly. "What ya thinking, Guv?" He held a hand up. "I know you, Col, okay? I know just how bleedin' good that sixth sense of yours is. Almost as good as Dee. So if you're gut's tellin' ya something, mind sharing it with me?"

"Dan, I trust you completely. Okay? There's no question of that. But…"

"But we've had snakes in the grass before, yeah I know. No Col, I get where you're coming from. The lads are sound, Guv. I can vouch for them. Straight up."

"You thought Mountbatten was sound, bud. Look, I don't wanna sound paranoid or anything…"

"…but just because you are doesn't mean they ain't out to get ya." Danny nodded. "Understood. But I know these guys. Look, every time we've had a situation like this, it's been further up the fuckin' food chain that's been the problem, Col. Even Mountbatten was just a puppet for bigger bastards higher up. Are you thinkin' someone's yanking our chain again?"

"Possibly."

"We're on a recon, Col. Not a take and hold or an S and D. If we've been burned, it might make sense to abort, Guv." There was no panic or fear in Danny's voice. He was merely assessing the situation. Weighing up their choices.

"We have that option."

"But." Danny grinned. "I know you, Col. There's always a but."

"We really need that intel, Dan. They know we're here, granted. Well, _someone _knows we're here. But they don't know that we know."

"Oh, don't start one of these, mate, they always give me a bleedin' headache! All that _we _know that _they _know that _we_ know crap…"

"Ever play chess, Danny?"

"Nah. More of a tiddlywinks man, me."

" A tiddly _what _now?" Colby chuckled quietly. "Nope, don't answer that. Chess is a game of strategy, bud. You don't just try to out-think your opponent. You out think _their _out think. You're always trying to be at least half a dozen steps in front. They know we're here. But they _don't _know that we've spotted them. They still think they have the element of surprise."

"But in actual fact…"

"But in actual fact, Danny, that's precisely what we have. We've got a head's up here. We carry on with the mission. But we're gonna have to go deep on this one, bud. Real deep."

"We've been radioing in every 18 hours. We're due for a shout."

"We stay dark."

"Guv?"

"I want no radio contact from now on. No contact whatsoever. We run silent until we're done."

"That means we're gonna lose our ride out, Col." He spoke quietly. "That could make it a one way trip, old son."

Colby didn't reply for a second. When he did, his voice was quiet. "I know, bud. I know…"

_**TBC…..**_


	8. Cat and Mouse

Disclaimer

I, the undersigned, hereby notify any nosy bloody lawyers who may have nothing better to do with their time than harass the poor, innocent FanFiction writer, do hereby declare that I have nothing whatsoever to do with that magnificent and much loved televisual feast, Numb3rs, its main characters, production crew, writers and cast of said programme.

I do, however, own this story lock, stock and two smokin' barrels, buddy, the characters of Diane "We have a problem" Armstrong, Micky "What the fu…" Cox, Danny "Gawd luv a duck, guv'nor!" Smith and other assorted Brit-raff. And I'll smack the bejesus out of anyone who says otherwise.

Usual warning for bad language, violence and mind-melting Cockney slang.

Now promise me – once you've read this, you'll go write a letter to Nina Tassler and sign the petition!

Cue wonkey Numb3rs board…

* * *

"Where can I hook up, Guv?" Micky held up a laptop. Diane glanced up from her own screen and wordlessly pointed at a connection point. "Cheers." Micky unzipped two of the black bags and quickly, expertly, began setting up the very latest in high tech. Tommy, the team's usual tech, glanced across and his almond, brown eyes widened in envy as he saw the very latest, state of the art equipment come out of a battered old black bag. He glanced across to Don and raised his eyebrow. Don smiled and chuckled quietly to himself. David sat next to Don and the two men watched as the Brits linked some unknown system up to the FBI's Intranet system. He smiled.

"Scary."

Don turned to him and gave him an amused, quizzical look. "What is?"

"That someone like Micky Cox now has access to the _entire _FBI system. Thank God he's on our side, huh?" David grinned wryly at Don.

"Thanks, David. I hadn't thought about it until now. And now you mention it? Yeah, _now_ I'm scared!" He grinned warmly at his team-mate. "But you gotta admit, buddy. Their methods may be a little unorthodox, but they get results."

"Any word from Colby?"

"Nothing. I'm not expecting to hear from him for a while, either." Don's voice was flat but David could hear the undertone of concern. He wasn't the only one worried about their absent friend…

"Is he okay?"

Don frowned. "He was pretty shaken up, but you know Col." He shrugged. "He just kinda gets on with things."

David didn't answer. He knew how much his friend had been through these last few months. And he was beginning to learn a little about the hell that he'd endured seven years earlier. It explained a lot about the reserved nature of Colby. His reluctance to talk about his personal life. He deep reluctance to talk about his army days. And his utter refusal to talk about what had happened in Kosovo. David could understand that. _Nobody_, least of all a decent man like Colby Granger, deserved to be burdened with horrific memories like that…

"And we are _in_! Okie dokie then, wanna see a slide show entitled "What we did on our holidays" by the esteemed members of the Free America Federation slash Hand of God Jihad slash kill 'em all, let God sort 'em out suicide squad? It's dead interesting…" Micky pressed a key and the plasma monitor lit up, a cascade of emails, photographs and reconnaissance pictures filling the screen. "This is what we currently know. The armoury attack was designed to do two things." Micky held up a finger. "Firstly, to grab a shit load of high-end hardware and to send us a message that we had a full-on fuckin' war on our hands. Some of these weapons find their way into the hands of a bunch of gang bangers intent on wiping each other out, and the rest," he clicked on a list of military hardware, "goes bye byes. Question is, why supply a couple of gangs with enough hardware to take out half the flamin' state when they know full well we'd end up recovering it and linking it to the attack on Irwin?" Micky frowned and then flashed an apologetic grin at Don. "Still tryin' to work that one out mate. Thought I'd throw it out there and see if the dogs bit its arse."

"We have dogs now?" David frowned, confused by the Englishman's colloquialisms.

Diane rolled her eyes. "It's one of Micky's unintelligible babblings. It means to bounce an idea around and see if we can't start joining the dots."

Micky grinned broadly. "Ta for the translation, Guv. Secondly, the connection with O'Neils Demolition and Michael Joseph King. Thirdly, our intel reports on the email chatter. Tie it all together and what have you got?"

"You've got seemingly random dots connected by the armoury break in." Don frowned and moved towards the screen, studying each document in turn. "But what we haven't got is the connection to Colby's mission."

"That's classified, Eppes." Diane's voice was neutral."

"Any damn way of _un_classifying it?" David frowned briefly.

"I'm sorry David. We've told you as much as we can. Colby's on a recon mission. He'll be back in a few days."

"So we need to work out who it was that hit the armoury, and what their link is to the Free America group and possibly this Hand of God crew."

"We're still thinking that the Hand of God thing is a red herring. There's no information on them on any agency watch list. We've got nothing at Langley, your guys have never heard of them and even the British are in the dark. There's no connection to the UK, so it looks like they may be genuine, one hundred percent American home-grown, mate." Micky sat back on the corner of a table and crossed his arms.

"I've checked with my old boss at INT 14. There's no known group linked to Al Q'eda going by the name Hand of God." Diane tapped at the keyboard and brought up a list of names. "This is the email address book of one of the persons of interest we've been keeping an eye on. The first mention of the Hand of God is five months ago. Before that? Nothing." Diane turned and faced Don. "There's a lot of data here, but right now, it's like a ball of wool after a bunch of bloody angry kittens have been at it. Needs some serious unpicking."

Don looked past Diane and smiled warmly. "Well, just so happens we've got someone who's real good at unpicking the handiwork of angry kittens! Hey Charlie."

"Well, I can immediately see that there's plenty of data here for me to do a detailed social network analysis of the relationship between the Free America Federation and the Hand of God. If I can cross-reference their commonalties and run it through an algorithm that will dissemble the basic hierarchical structure of the organisation, I may be able to find common denominators that could identify the group leaders _and, _possibly, predict their next move. There has to be a reason that they exposed themselves to possible discovery, especially as one of their gang contacts is in custody. All we have to do is look for key patterns in the network pathways and see if that was a deliberate ploy or if some variable changed that forced them to get rid of some of the guns, perhaps to finance a second part of the operation. It, you know...this actually ties in rather nicely with some work I've been doing recently on my cognitive emergence theory." Charlie hovered at the doorway of the War room, nervously smiled at his brother and waved. "Hey Don."

Don beamed warmly at his sibling and beckoned him in. "Thanks for getting here so quick, Chuck."

"Oh, it's no problem. The conference was a bust, really. The principle speaker decided to deconstruct the mathematical principles of fluid mechanics without taking into account the obvious influence of the variational principle for a fluid with a free surface that, ha! Well, we all found that _quite _hilarious!" Charlie giggled like a naughty schoolboy and then froze as he noticed the usual reaction of everyone staring at him blankly. He swallowed nervously. "But…then… you didn't need to know that, really, did you?"

"Oh, I dunno, mate. I mean, Luke had a few interesting things to say on it and developed some nice little equations concerning motion for the classical water wave problem in Eulerian co-ordinates obtained from a Lagrangian function, which, as we _all _know, equals the pressure. How he managed to compare it with the more usual expression formed from kinetic minus potential energy made it child's play to understand. Really. Candy from a fuckin' baby time." Micky scratched at his chin and looked up. Every person in the room, including Charlie, was staring at the usually happy-go-lucky man in disbelief. Micky Cox frowned deeply. "_What_?"

"You, Micky Cox, are a bleedin' mystery not even your _mother _can explain!" Diane's emerald green eyes were wide with amused amazement. "You've been at the bloody physics books again, haven't you?"

"Some people happen to like collecting things, some people love country and western music, I just happen to have a deep fascination for fluid dynamics." Micky shrugged. "Everyone's gotta have a hobby, Guv."

Diane stared blankly at Micky for a moment and then sighed. "_Aaaanyhoo_…"

Don glanced at David, who shook his head and grinned. He muttered quietly to his boss. "Like Diane said. A mystery even his mom can't solve!" He chuckled in disbelief. "Seriously. How can he be _that _crazy and _that _smart at the same time?"

Don nodded in agreement and shrugged. "Yeah. Now _that's _scary!"

33333333

"We have cover up to six hundred meters, then it's open on every approach. Nothing, Guv, not even a tuft of bleedin' grass to hide in." Marcus pointed to a map that had been laid out on the rickety table. Andy was currently on guard duty and the three men studied the intel they had in front of them carefully.

"You said there was a medieval sewer running right into the compound, yeah?" Colby's eyes didn't leave the map. He was memorising every inch of the layout of the training camp in detail.

"Starts here by the old town wall." Marcus pointed. "Trouble is, it means we have to go _through _the town to get to it. Bloody good chance of being spotted. And if our friends from earlier are in the area, we're gonna run into them again. At best, some daft bloody villager'll say the wrong thing to the wrong person and they'll be all over us like a bloody rash."

"So we go at night." Colby glanced at his watch. "We've got about three hours till sun-up. We'll lay low during the day, this place is pretty easy to defend. But I'd like to take a look at the camp tonight beforehand. Ya know." He jerked a thumb at the map. "Two dimensional maps are all well and good, but they don't tell us what kinda fence they've got, how their patrols rotate and if there's dogs."

"Camp's only a couple of miles from here. We could be there, recon it and back before daybreak." Danny looked at Colby. "Fancy a gander's?"

"I thought it was a butcher's?" Colby flashed a grin.

Danny chuckled quietly. "Yeah. Forgot you Yanks don't understand a bloody word of proper English half the time."

"It's not just the Yanks, Smithy. _I_ don't understand a bloody word that comes out your Cockney mouth half the damn time either!" Marcus rolled up the map. "We're overdue for a shout in, Guv."

"We off the radio until further notice, Marcus." Colby's tone was authoritative, but Marcus frowned.

"Seriously?"

"Bud, those unwelcome guests earlier were no co-incidence, I'm sure of it. So until I know we're not being sent out as some kinda sacrificial damn goats here, and just who we can trust on the other end, we stay quiet."

Danny frowned. "We need to get intel through, Col. What about establishing a comms link with Dee? We know we can trust her."

Colby turned to Marcus with a quizzical look and the Englishman winked. "Do-able, Guv."

"Without giving our position away, Marcus. Send it through as many blind alleys as you need to, but make damn sure our comms can't be picked up, okay? And make sure the Land Rover is out of sight. I don't want some local stumbling in here and finding it sitting there like a fuckin' beacon."

"I'll get it outside and covered. We've brought plenty of cami-net. Should be able to make a Land Rover disappear no problem."

Colby nodded. "Good. We can't be too careful. It's pretty obvious we've been burned, but I wanna keep going as long as we can without breaking cover, okay?"

"I've already done a sweep of the area. No sniffers anywhere. Airwaves are clean. Our radios have a three-mile radius, so you should be able to shout Andy and me if you have any bother. In the meantime, I'll set up a link to Dee, get the Landy out of sight and make sure there's no tracks around the barn."

Colby frowned. "Still, I wanna be careful. Double clicks on the radio to acknowledge only. Danny and I'll keep radio silence unless absolutely necessary. You get _three _clicks, you come runnin' all guns blazin', right?"

"Copy that." Marcus stood up quickly and moved over to a bank of laptops and technical equipment. He suddenly turned. "Guv, what if base tries to contact us?"

"No response." Colby stared hard. "I mean _none_. No matter what. Unless the contact comes from Dee, we're ghosts until further notice. Understood?"

"Yes Guv."

Colby nodded. "Okay. You ready Dan?"

"Ready."

The two men picked up their weapons and trotted carefully down the crumbling stairs to the floor of the barn. They moved quickly and silently, exiting the barn and into the pre-dawn blackness of the forest. Colby let out a low whistle to let Andy know of their approach and got the signal back in return. They quickly explained to Andy their plans and moved off at a steady jog into the forest…

33333333

Nikki Bedacourt snapped a curt thanks and put the phone down. She scribbled down a note and walked quickly towards the war room. She was the last one of the team to head to the briefing and as she approached the glass doors, she saw a new face standing next to Diane. A powerfully built man with short, dark hair and an irrepressible grin permanently fixed on his face. He seemed to be deep in conversation with Charlie and the two looked like they were getting on like a house on fire. Don sat in conversation with David and other agents worked quietly in the background. She could see Lieutenant Gary Walker joining Don and David, his crisp black uniform in sharp contrast to the generally casual dress of the FBI agents. She felt out of her depth. She'd only been with Don's team a matter of weeks and she was being thrown into something that she had absolutely no experience of. She missed Colby. Despite their prickly relationship, his presence seemed somehow reassuring when things got really messy…

As Nikki entered the war room, the dark haired man glanced up and smiled warmly at her. "Well, _hello!_" The man's eyes twinkled with fun and mischief. Nikki couldn't help herself. She responded to his genuine smile with a flirty smile back.

"Down, Micky! Down boy! Bad Micky!" Diane playfully smacked Micky around the back of the head and threw an apologetic glance to Nikki. "Sorry, love. The man is incorrigible. Micky, this is Agent Nikki Bedacourt. One of Don's people."

"Nice to meet you, Nikki." Micky held out a hand and Nikki shook it nervously. His grip was strong but strangely reassuring…

"Bedacourt, this is Micky Cox. He's one of my lot. If he bothers you, feel free to kick him hard in the balls."

"Thanks, Guv." Micky frowned playfully.

"Any time, you dirty boy." Diane shot a warning glance at Micky and nodded at the young woman. "Got something?"

"The autopsy back from our guy at O'Neils. Single gunshot wound to the head. The bullet's not a match for anything on our database. It's a dead end."

"Not exactly. We know for a fact the link with the demolition company is a good one."

"Which is why I did a little digging and came up with this." Nikki held up a file. "I had a look at King's file and his links with the Free America Federation. _And _why he joined up."

"Meaning?" Diane turned her full attention towards Nikki. The younger woman found it disconcerting to be the centre of Diane's penetrating gaze. It was exactly the same kind of look you got from Granger when he was listening not just to what you said, but what you _weren't _saying…

"Meaning, Michael Joseph King wasn't always a gun toting militia nut. He spent five years in the Marines. Tours of Afghanistan, Europe and some that you need higher security clearance than I've got to look at. But he got a dishonourable discharge for disobeying orders. Seems he didn't hold with something they asked him to do. Claimed to have found religion and his orders didn't correspond with his new-found beliefs. The military red-flagged him and threw him out quicker than you can say terrorist." She held out the file to Diane, who took it and started scanning through.

"I can probably bypass the classified bits. Pull in a few favours. See if he has links somewhere else down the line." She handed the file to Micky. "Get on it, Mick."

"And I can include that in my network analysis." Charlie was scribbling frantically at a whiteboard. "Any extra data we can get will help."

"Micky'll give you everything he can."

"Guv." Micky winked at Nikki and turned back to his computers.

"Good work, Nikki. Now in the meantime we…" Diane frowned as her phone buzzed quietly. She glanced down at the id and immediately walked quickly out of the room, pressing the phone to her ear as she exited into the corridor. "Armstrong…"

Nikki wandered over to Don and David. She was greeted by a small smile from Lieutenant Walker. "Seems our British friends have everything cookin' nicely."

"They don't waste any time." Don studied Nikki. She was still nervous but he could see the confidence growing day by day. "That's the second well done you've gotten from Dee, Nikki. Makin' a habit of it, ain't ya?" He grinned.

"Ah, she's not so bad. Bark's way worse than her bite." The cocky tone of Nikki's voice made David smile broadly. "What's so funny, Sinclair?"

"Oh, nothin', Nikki, nothin'." The three men all grinned at the young woman. They knew just how wrong Nikki was in that assumption…

Diane appeared at the door and beckoned to Don. "Don, David? A moment, if you please?"

"Excuse us Gary." Don and David walked over to the Englishwoman and she led them away from the war room and into a deserted side room. Closing the door quietly, she turned to them.

"Oh, I do _not _like that look…" David frowned.

"I've just heard from Colby's team." Diane's eyes were dark and serious. "We appear to have a bit of a problem…"

33333333

Danny Smith held up a fist. Both men froze immediately and slowly dropped to their knees, staring into the darkness. The night-vision goggles gave the forest an eerie, vivid green cast that made seeing their surroundings almost as easy as working in daylight. Once you'd got used to the strange, three-dimensional effect the goggles created, it was actually easier to see the little details. A field mouse's eyes shone like two tiny torches and then disappeared as the mouse vanished into the undergrowth. Ahead of them, a collection of buildings stood in the darkness, the interior lights flaring in the night vision goggles.

Danny beckoned quickly. Colby moved silently through the brush and joined his partner, staring down at the compound through a pair of binoculars. The numeric calculations in the corner of the binoculars showed they were seven hundred and fourteen meters from the edge of the compound. In front of them the ground had been levelled and cleared. The only way in would be through the sewer…

"No dogs." Colby whispered and Danny nodded in response.

"Looks like their guards rotate on a four minute turn around. Three out front, two out back."

Colby grunted a response and scanned the ground. A glint of metal caught his eye. "Shit."

"What?"

"Claymores."

"Bollocks! You're kidding me..."

"Take a look." He handed the binoculars to Danny, who studied the ground and swore quietly. He took the binoculars from his eyes and turned to Colby.

"If they've taken the trouble to mine the surrounding area, there's a damn good chance they know about the sewer."

"It's a chance we'll have to take, Danny. Frontal is a no-go."

"Agreed." Danny glanced at his watch. "We've got about an hour and a half till sun up. Wanna take a look at the town?"

"And the entrance to that sewer, yeah. We need to check ingress and egress before we go in." Danny handed back the binoculars and Colby packed them away in a pocket. "Let's move."

The two men got up silently and melted into the bushes…

3333333

The town was deserted. It didn't note the passing of two shadowy black figures that flitted through its unlit streets, their fingers lying ready next to the trigger guards of their M4 rifles. Like two ghosts, Danny Smith and Colby Granger silently made their way through the winding streets, noting vantage points, hiding points and possible threats as they went. Every window was shuttered up tight, as if the occupants were afraid to let the night in. The entire town had a chilling sensation of quiet terror, as if haunted by some monster that came out at night…

The two men reached the ancient, crumbling walls of the town and the concealed entrance to the sewer pipe. Danny motioned to Colby and they dropped into the shadows that enveloped the entrance. Colby studied the rusting iron gate and scowled. The bolts were brand new…

He ran an expert eye around the grating and, gently pushing a finger through the iron bars, touched a wire. Tracing the path, he followed the wire up to a sensor positioned almost out of sight at the top of the frame. "Wired." His voice was a barely perceivable whisper. "God _damn _it!"

"Guess they know about this way in then." Danny scowled fiercely at the grating and he sat back on his heels.

"Unlikely it's a detonator. More likely to be linked up to an alarm system in the compound."

"Marcus should be able to figure it out."

"Make a note of the wiring, Dan. Marcus is gonna need to know what he's dealing with."

"On it." Danny shifted his position and studied the grate and its booby trap carefully. He checked around and, making sure it wouldn't give away their presence, quickly shone a torch into the sewer. "Can't see anything further in, Guv. Doesn't mean there ain't trip wires and fuck knows what else in there, but this just seems to be an alarm. Nothing else. Pretty basic stuff by the looks of…"

Colby clamped a hand over Danny's mouth and pulled him back into the shadows. The torch dropped from Danny's hand and Colby quickly slapped a gloved hand over the blazing light, extinguishing it instantly…

The crunching rumble of a Toyota truck with a serious clutch problem echoed through the silent streets. From the cab, a searchlight swung into dark corners and hidden places, illuminating them as brightly as a sunny day. The sound of the truck and the searchlight disturbed a dog in a far off house and it barked briefly.

Colby and Danny faded further into the shadows, watching the searchlight pass where they had been sitting seconds earlier. It missed them by inches…

Colby watched the truck vanish around a corner and scowled in the darkness, his green eyes dark with annoyance. He looked at Danny and whispered hoarsely. "This guy is beginning to _seriously piss me off_!" He nodded to Danny and motioned towards a crumbling hole in the wall. Danny grabbed the torch and the two men vanished into the night…

33333333

"Are you _serious_?"

"Colby's gone dark for a bloody good reason, Eppes. Bowen had to backscatter the message to make sure they can't be traced. Granger believes they've been compromised."

Don sat back and ran a hand through his hair. A knot had formed in the pit of his stomach. He glanced up. "We've been here before, Dee."

"I know." Diane's expression gave nothing away. But both Don and David knew that their friend was in trouble. And thousands of miles from any form of rescue. Colby was on his own…

David swore quietly. "Do you guys _ever _do anything the easy way?"

"We keep this to ourselves." Don stood up. "Diane, maintain what contact you can with Colby. If we're his only point of contact, I wanna make sure that he's got an open channel to us whenever he needs it. That intel _has _to get through."

"Understood."

"David, not a word to anyone about this. Hell, even _we're _not supposed to know, okay?"

"Got it."

"Meanwhile, we carry on with the investigation this end." Don sighed deeply. "And pray Col is okay…"

33333333

Colby had never been so pleased to see such a tumble down barn. They slipped quietly inside and trotted up the creaking steps to the office. Colby noticed that the Land Rover had vanished and all traces of their presence in the barn had been covered. The lads had done a good job…

Marcus turned as they entered, giving them a thumbs up. "Made contact with Dee. Message back, comms link established. Clean line, no other agencies aware. Base called, I didn't answer as per instructions. Guv, they're gonna start asking questions real quick if we don't respond at some point."

Colby frowned and scratched at his short hair. "Yeah, I know. And the first person they're gonna go to is Dee."

"She's on board, Guv."

"I know. But we don't have the luxury of time on this one, guys. We go tomorrow night." He glanced at his watch and noticed that a weak dawn was sending shafts of pale sunlight through the gaping holes in the building. "Um, Marcus? You got a pair of wire cutters with you?"

"Carry them like a bloody lucky rabbit's foot, Guv. Never leave my side."

"Good. Cause the sewer entrance is belled up."

"Shit."

Danny frowned as he poured out two cups of strong, sweet tea. "Yeah. _And _our friend with the Toyota was back."

"_What_? Guv, what the hell?"

Colby sank down into a moth-eaten old chair and gratefully took the cup offered to him by Danny. He ran a hand over his face and nodded. "We're playin' cat and mouse here, guys. And we're the freakin' mice."

A creak on the stairs brought them all to attention. Marcus's hand rested on the 9mm Browning by his side and he sighed in relief as Andy walked in.

"All quiet outside." Andy tossed his rifle on the table and picked up a mug. "Any more brew left, Smithy?"

Colby leaned back in the armchair, ignoring the musty odour that permeated the sagging cloth. He closed his eyes for a second and visualised the winding streets of the village, the rusting gateway of the sewer entrance, the Toyota truck, even the tiny, vivid green eyes of the field mouse. Every detail scrolled through his mind as he planned their next move. Around him, he could hear the other men quietly bedding down, Marcus tapping at the keyboard of a laptop and the clink of a spoon against a metal mug as Andy stirred his tea.

Then another sound broke through the background noise.

The sound of a crunching gearbox…

Instantly, the four men were on their feet, weapons in hand. Colby scowled at Andy and whispered hoarsely. "All quiet, huh Andy? Ya _think_?"

The four men took up defensive positions, ready to go down shooting if necessary…

_**TBC…**_


	9. Closure

Disclaimer

You want me to do the usual SIGN THE PETITION! WRITE TO NINA TASSLER! bit? Do I need to remind you to do that, you wonderful Numb3rs fans, you? Remember to do your bit to make sure we get a season 7 and that CBS doesn't commit viewer suicide by canning the best programme on the telly?

A-hem…

Aaanyhoo, usual disclaimer applies. Ya know. The one where I don't have anything to do with Numb3rs in any way, shape or form apart from being a huge fan. I DO, though own all the assorted British riff-raff and general scallywags, including Diane 'Ma'am' Armstrong, Micky 'Dirty little reprobate' Cox, Danny 'Actually a bit scary' Smith and the rest of the motley crew with various British dialects. Oh, and the story. And I'll get personal in a bad way with anyone who says otherwise.

Usual warnings for swearing, violence and some Cockney slang. Major warning for a pretty intense, very scary and very Dark!Colby that'll have you lookin' at the boy in a _whole new light…_

Roll credits…

* * *

The rusting tin door rattled urgently. Melting further into the shadows of the dilapidated barn, the four men watched silently as the vibration caused rust to flake off the surface of the hinges and float to the dirt floor.

Colby zoned everything out except sound. He listened, focusing every nerve on his surroundings. He knew the inside of the barn intimately – they'd all taken time to study every aspect of the bolt-hole. Visual clues were no good here. He concentrated on sounds – sounds that would tell him where his opponent _really _was. He knew how his opponent operated. He knew Alexi wouldn't just try the obvious. He wouldn't come through the door without covering his back somehow. The man had been a soldier himself. A guerrilla fighter who knew that it wasn't bullets that won a battle – it was _tactics_. And Colby was a tactician. That was what he excelled at above everything else. It's what made him such a good spy, as much as he hated to admit it to himself. He stilled all of the usual mental noise in his mind into silence, seeking out his opponent, trying to think like him, plan like him, anticipate not just the obvious but the hidden - counter moves designed to throw the opponent off balance, to confuse, to weaken, to _break…_. Colby stayed motionless for what felt like a lifetime, his green eyes closed and an almost serene expression on his face. Then, slowly, his eyes opened and he smiled quietly to himself. It wasn't a nice smile…

Colby silently turned his back to the obvious. The rattling door was a ruse, a distraction. As he turned, he indicated with a glance towards the man he trusted above anyone else in this shit-hole of a situation. The man who had fought alongside him in some of the most hellish places on earth. Danny frowned briefly and then nodded. He mirrored Colby's move. The two men took up position and waited, only their hard, cold, professional eyes visible through the slit of the balaclavas…

Alexi Valamov was an extraordinary man. Vicious, manipulative, and totally without empathy. But not without intelligence of a dark, sadistic, primeval kind. Ask him about world politics and he'd have no opinion. He didn't care whether his masters were just men or unjust. He didn't even care if they forgot to pay him occasionally. He didn't do what he did for the money.

He did it because he _enjoyed _it.

He enjoyed seeing how many ways he could inflict pain on a victim. He enjoyed not just physically damaging a prisoner, but seeing how much psychological damage he could do as well. Pitting his will against another was nectar to him. He yearned constantly for the almost sensual pleasure of psychological combat and the delicious feeling he had when he won. When the prisoner finally broke. That's what he lived for - that rush of power. That precious second when he knew he had complete and utter domain over another person's will.

That precious second he had _never go_t with Colby…

Colby Granger had been his biggest challenge. He'd spent weeks trying to break the man. He'd used every trick in his arsenal. Mental, physical, psychological. Although the man had buckled towards the end, he had not _quite _broken. And that had frustrated Alexi.

He had never been denied that rush of power before. And it had nagged at him like a hangnail for years. He had always feared that their relationship didn't end with Colby's beaten and broken body behing handed over to his CIA masters. That one day, he would meet the American one last time. He knew what had happened to the others. He knew Granger would never stop looking for him, no matter how long it took. And now? Fate itself had thrown them together…

The nose of a gun poked through a crack in the wooden shingles. A cascade of dust streamed down, dancing in the beam of sunlight that suddenly distorted as the shadow of a man blocked the low, weak winter sun. He'd given his position away. Colby smiled darkly. 'Yer _slippin'_ buddy…'

As the rusting door finally gave into the repeated rattling and started to tear at the hinges, Alexi pushed his way through the rotting wood with little resistance, expecting to catch his quarry with their backs to him.

He came face to face with the business end of an FMP90 machine pistol and the powerful frame of a man, his features hidden by a balaclava and entirely dressed in black, but with a pair of eyes he knew only too well…

"_Hello, Alexi_..."

Colby's greeting was icy cold. Alexi froze. He knew any movement would be his last.

At the same instant the door burst open and three gun toting men rushed in, firing blindly and running straight into the welcoming light arms and Brownings of Marcus and Andy. It was over in a second. The men were mown down as they came through the bottleneck of the door.

Alexi watched motionless as his entire team was cut to pieces by the cold, clinical efficiency of the SAS. They didn't stand a chance. The enormity of his situation and his _massive _underestimation of the abilities of his quarry finally dawned on Alexi. It was _not_ a good feeling.

Danny moved quickly and disarmed the man, kicking him hard in the back of the knees and dropping him into a kneeling position. Another kick and his ankles were crossed, Danny keeping one foot and the majority of his weight on top of the vulnerable ankle bones as he quickly strapped a thick cable-tie around the man's wrists. He pushed the nose of his M4 Carbine into the back of the man's neck, just below the base of the skull. Alexi felt the cold, hard steel press into his flesh and flinched. This was Colby's opportunity to tie up the last lose end from seven years previous, he knew that. Alexi bowed his head, waiting for the end.

"Waiting for me to kill you, Alexi?" Colby moved around in front of the man and crouched on his haunches, his eyes level with Alexi's. He stared at the man for a few seconds, the letterbox effect of the balaclava emphasising the intense green eyes that showed no emotion whatsoever. Colby pulled off his balaclava and continued to stare at the man, penetrating deep into his subconscious, triggering memories of that dark cell they both knew so well. The stench of pain, fear and death etched into the very walls and into their memories. The eternal tableau of torturer and victim. Cat and mouse. Assassin and victim. Always, in his mind, Alexi had been the victor. He'd been the cat, the assassin, the torturer. He had always been dominant. Only now, the roles were reversed. Alexi may have been the finest torturer the secret police had ever had. But there's an old saying. The man who chains up a tiger and pokes it with a stick better hope and pray that he's not the stupid son of a bitch who has to _unchain _it again later…

Alexi realised that tiger was now loose and crouching in front of him, the feline-like fury in the green eyes telling him that one thing his deeply oppressed but cowardly inner true self always knew was coming.

_Payback time…_

Danny silently moved around and took up position behind Colby, glancing over his shoulder quickly to appraise the situation in the other half of the barn. Marcus and Andy were checking over the three men, expertly moving from one to the next, assessing their status. All three were dead. Marcus turned and nodded curtly to Andy, giving him the all clear signal. Danny motioned to the outside of the barn and Marcus nodded back, tapping Andy on the arm and silently trotting out of the door. They knew to secure the entire perimeter and cover any trace of their enemies ever having been there.

Danny turned back and studied the man in front of him. He cradled the M4 and rolled his balaclava back into a beanie covering his short blonde hair. Under the grime and dirt that camouflaged his skin, two hard, icy-blue and utterly cold eyes bored into the shackled man. But they didn't disturb Alexi as much as the green eyes that burrowed into his very soul, forging a sickening knot of fear deep inside him. Alexi may have been a great torturer, but, as with all sadists, ultimately a coward when it came to his _own _damn pain thresholds…

Colby smiled a friendly, cheerful little smile, almost as if he were smiling at an old friend. "Nah. Killing you just like that would be too easy." He shifted his position and got comfortable, resting the FMP90 across his thighs. "Might as well catch up on old times for a bit first, huh? Ya know? Just briefly? Give you a few seconds to think about things before we get down to _business_." He studiously pulled a glove off, loosening it finger by finger and discarding it in the dust. He looked back up at the man and the smile melted away and his voice took on a matter-of-fact tone. "C'mon, Alexi, you know how this plays. I'm not going to waste my time threatening you. You know full well what to expect from me. Ya know how this ends. So I'm figuring I've saved myself a good couple hours there on the torture side'a things, huh?" He grinned suddenly and chuckled. "Just tell me who tipped you off we were here. I don't give a crap about why right now, bud, just who. One question at a time. We can work on the why afterwards."

One question at a time.

It was a phrase he had used so often himself, not least on the very man who now crouched in front of him, one hand resting casually over his knee and an almost benign look on his face. But that phrase had served as a warning to Alexi. A warning that Colby was remembering what Alexi had done to him seven years before. And was quite willing to repay the compliment right now, unless Alexi did _exactly as he was told…_

Alexi swallowed nervously and glanced behind Colby. Danny stood slightly to the right of his boss, the M4 Carbine still cradled in his arms. He looked totally relaxed, at ease and ready to follow any order Granger gave him. Alexi recognised that look in the man's eyes; the look of a man who trusts his Commanding Officer so completely that he's prepared to kick the shit out of the gates of Hell itself for him. And who was prepared to cross lines, if necessary… It was a look he had never had from any of his own men. They had only ever looked at him with fear and loathing, never the respect of command. Briefly, he envied Colby. And knew that he was beaten.

His masters had lied to him. They had told him that an American was leading a renegade bunch of mercenaries, intent on causing internal unrest in the volatile eastern region of the country, paid for by rebel Serbian Muslim radicals. He had been told they were badly organised, poorly equipped, poorly disciplined and probably drunk. An easy quarry. An easy kill. Once mighty soldiers reduced to fighting other people's messy, nasty little skirmishes to make a few bucks. Instead he'd come face to face with four men who had the potential to wipe out an entire battalion if they needed to, and still vanish, ghost-like, into the thick mists that often blanketed this forested region of Kosovo. Highly trained, highly disciplined and equipped with more high-end ordnance than Alexi had seen in a lifetime, this crew wasn't some pathetic little renegade bunch of mercenaries, these were the finest damn soldiers in the world. This was _government backed._ Alexi scowled. His masters had also omitted to tell him that the American leading this particular bunch of renagades was _Colby Granger_....

"I tell you _nothing,_ Granger."

"Rightyho. Got that off your chest?" Colby's voice was still light, still friendly. "thought you might say that. Okie dokie then. Danny? If you would, please."

"No problem, Guv."

Colby looked back at his prisoner and smiled nastily. "I don't have time to fuck about, my friend." His voice was quiet and utterly cold.

Danny slung the strap of the M4 Carbine over his shoulder and reached inside his jacket. He pulled out a small medi-pack and unzipped it. He picked out a syringe and a small vial of liquid. Expertly, he inserted the needle into the rubber stopper of the vial and drew the plunger back. He extracted the needle and squirted a silver stream of liquid out to clear any air bubbles. He looked down at the man, holding the syringe in front of him.

Pushing the cumbersome M4 out of the way and over his back, he crouched at the side of Alexi and gripped the top of his jacket sleeve. Pulling hard, he ripped the stitching, tearing the arm from the body of the jacket in one sharp move. The torn cloth hung down, exposing Alexi's naked deltoid muscle. Clamping one hand roughly around his elbow to hold Alexi's arm rigid, Danny pressed the point of the needle into the skin. It punctured the surface and pushed deep into the deltoid, causing Alexi to wince with pain.

"Okay, so here's the deal. You can either tell me who's giving the orders, bud, or we fill you with that shit. And that will not be good. You _know _it won't be good. After all, you know what that shit does to a person, don't ya?" Colby leaned forward, his face inches from Alexi's. "You _know first hand_, don't ya buddy?" Any trace of the light, friendly Colby vanished in an instant. Alexi stared into the eyes of a cold, hard killer…

Danny held steady. He knew that the 'shit' in the syringe was actually an adrenaline shot. Harmless. Unless you gave someone too much. And he'd put _way _too much in that syringe…

Alexi broke. A damp stain spread down the front of his trousers as he couldn't contain himself any more. The realisation that he was an utter coward who peed his pants at the first jab of a needle made Colby sit back in surprise. He'd expected to have to go much further with the psychological beating than this… He glanced up at Danny and shook his head and then back at Alexi. The man was breathing heavily, his dark eyes darting around the barn, knowing that his frantic search for a way out of this situation was fruitless.

He stared up at Colby, hoping to see any trace of mercy in the man. He saw none. Colby glanced again at Danny and opened his mouth to speak…

"NO! No…I…please…wait, I'll tell you, I'll tell you!"

"I know you will, Alexi. But sooner rather than later would be good. For everyone. Especially you." Colby cocked an eyebrow and a feral smile flashed across his face. "So? Have at it, buddy. You got 30 seconds to convince me. Go." Colby stared intently at his watch.

"I don't know who the main boss is…"

"…Not good enough, bud. Twenty one, twenty. Nineteen…"

"WAIT PLEASE!" The man gasped as he felt Danny's weight shift the point of the needle painfully in his arm. "I know the orders came from someone in the United States. Someone important, someone high up!" He laughed a brittle, sharp laugh. "Looks like you've been betrayed by your own people again, Granger!"

"Eleven, ten, nine…" Colby ignored the obvious attempt to get him to react. He glanced away from his watch and back into Alexi's frightened eyes. "Seven, six, five, four…"

"Burkess! Walter Burkess! He's part of your CIA, my friend, one of your own damn people!" He laughed again. "We've known you were coming right from the moment you landed in Athens, you poor, deluded fool! You _puppet_! We knew you'd head for Pristina, but we followed that little detour you took and it was obvious where you were heading, predictable, Granger, very predictable! We just didn't know exactly where you'd come in and exactly when. Clever, the overland route. And that hole in our border fence will need to be paid for, by the way." A fleck of spit gathered at the corner of his mouth as he tried to stand defiant against his bitter enemy one last time… You think you can just walk into my country and bring your corrupt ways with you? Your American arrogance? And all the while, back home, your leaders are betraying you and fucking your sisters and girlfriends!" He laughed hysterically. "So you see, Granger, your mission? Whatever it is? It was doomed from the start. Doomed by your _own people, _Granger! Doomed to end in your long overdue _death, _you filthy son of a…"

"…One." Colby stood up and smoothly drew out one of the A1 pistols that nestled in his thigh holsters. His face completely blank, he swung the barrel up and straight at Alexi's head, the nose of the gun only inches from the centre of his forehead…

Colby pulled the trigger.

Alexi went rigid and without another sound, another breath, another thought, he fell backwards, dead…

Closure.

Colby pushed the A1 back into the holster and looked straight at Danny. Danny still crouched, his hand still holding the syringe. Danny glanced down at the dead man and shrugged. He stood up and stretched his cramping legs. Eventually, he stood face to face with Colby. He raised an eyebrow. "You expecting me to question you doin' that, Guv?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I am." Colby scratched absentmindedly at his ear and sniffed sharply. He looked Danny straight in the eyes, ready for the confrontation.

Danny met his gaze for a few seconds and then suddenly grinned. "Mate? Personally, I'd've shot the wanker the second he walked through the fuckin' gap, frankly. But fuck me, he didn't 'arf go _on_, didn't he?" He patted Colby on the shoulder, stepped over the body of Alexi and stood next to the American. "Guv, I know you didn't do that because you _wanted_ to. Truth is, if we'd left him alive, he'd take the first damn opportunity to get away and burn us wide open to the locals. We'd be fighting off the entire fuckin' security force within hours. They're bound to be expecting him to report in at some stage, and once he's overdue, they'll guess something's up. We've got until that happens to get clear, then we're gonna have the fuckin' dogs on our arses. Trouble is, we've got no idea when that's gonna happen, and we've still got eight hours before we can move on the compound." He ran his hand through his short, blond hair and sighed. "So, what next, Guv?"

Colby looked away, and shifted his gaze to the corpse of his enemy. "Get Marcus to patch into Dee. She needs that name. We'll let her concentrate on the why her end. We've still got a mission to complete, bud. And I'm not gonna worry about some hypothetical situation that we've got absolutely no control over like when Alexi's paymasters _might _start getting worried about him not phoning fuckin' home, ET." He looked up, straight at Danny. The Englishman could see the big American's mind working at double speed. "We go to ground and move as soon as it gets dark. This place is way too fuckin' hot, we need to find somewhere else defendable. You know the terrain, find us a bolt-hole, bud."

Danny nodded. "I'll get Marcus onto the comms." He laid a friendly hand on his colleague's shoulder. "For what it's worth, Col? Doesn't matter what anyone says about how you should forgive your enemy and all that shit about us just being soldiers and just doin' a job." Colby felt his friend's fingers briefly flex on his shoulder. "It's all bollocks, mate. Sometimes?" He shrugged. "Sometimes you _do _need a bit of closure." The blue eyes were steely hard, but warm. Danny knew how much the American was wrangling with his conscience right now about killing his former tormentor. But both he and Colby knew that to leave him alive was to bring the enemy's armies right to them… Leaving him alive might have been the compassionate thing to do. But tactically, it was an unacceptable risk to the mission. Alexi's death was a necessity. But he knew that it didn't sit easily with the essentially gentle, honourable American. He patted his friend one last time and smiled briefly, before turning and heading off to check on the whereabouts of Marcus and Andy. Colby stood motionless, watching his friend walk out of the building.

He was alone with the body of his enemy. A ghost from a distant land, a distant time but a living nightmare that had stayed with him for seven years. And now, the last of the links with that dark time in his life were gone. He'd won. He'd got the closure he'd craved all these years.

So why did he feel so damn empty inside?

Colby looked down at the corpse and sniffed again. The ache inside him was pushed into another one of those boxes and locked up in a mental cabinet deep inside his consciousness. He would deal with it fully another day. He swung the FMP90 over his back and stepped over the corpse of Alexi and back up the rickety stairs to the office. He had a mission to complete.

Closure.

It wasn't what he'd expected.

But it would do for now…

_**TBC…**_


	10. Tactics and Betrayal

Disclaimer

Have you written that letter to Nina Tassler yet? Have you signed the petition? I should jolly well hope so…consider yourselves well and truly nagged!

I, wot rit this 'ere story, hereby swear on the Holy Dictionary of Antioch that I have no control, part of or claim to any of the characters of that masterpiece of televisual delight, Numb3rs. I _do_, however, own the story, the characters of Diane 'Eureka!' Armstrong, Danny 'Good in a crisis' Smith, Micky 'Control Alt Delete' Cox and various other Brit-raffs that may put in an appearance. And I'll have speaks with anyone who says otherwise.

Usual warning for bad language, unintelligible Cockney slang, double crosses, double bluffs and generally brain-melting complexities.

Anything else you can't cope with is your own problem.

Roll credits and wonky Numb3rs board…

* * *

Colby turned as he heard footsteps running up the rickety stairs. Marcus trotted through the door with a broad grin on his face. He held up a battered looking laptop. "Motherload, Guv."

"What the fuck?" Colby looked surprised.

"It was stuffed in the footwell of their truck. Oh, Andy's sorting that particular problem out. Ya know. He found a pond. Deep, dark and definately very bloody murky. Not very environmentally friendly, dumping a truck in a pond like that but…" Marcus shrugged and grinned.

Colby grinned back. "But it ties up one loose end, yeah, I get it." He nodded at the laptop. "So what gives?"

Marcus moved quickly over to his own laptop and sat down, opening the old computer he'd found in the Toyota. "Bloody thing's ancient, and I mean _seriously_ decrepit, mate. Came out of the fuckin' Ark, this one, still boots up in DOS, for fuck's sake!" He waited for the battered computer to boot up and finally, the screen flickered into life. "Ah, _bollocks_! It's all in fuckin' foreign!" Marcus grunted loudly.

Colby chuckled quietly. "Fuck's sake, Marcus, whaddya expect? We're in Kosovo, buddy." He leaned over Marcus's shoulder and looked at the screen. "It's Albanian."

Marcus glanced up at the man. "Oh right. I forgot. You're a linguist. You understand this gobshite?"

Colby nodded and his hand reached over to the keyboard. He moved the cursor down to a file and double clicked. Marcus grinned. "Now that's more _like it_! Proper English!" He grinned broadly at the American and then noticed the deadly serious look on the man's face. He followed his gaze back to the screen. "Ah, _crap_…"

The insignia on the top of the file was the familiar eagle of the CIA…

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Danny worked on autopilot. He knew exactly what they'd need, and what they had to do. What he _didn't _know was how the hell they were going to get back out again. That bit, he was still working on. Marcus and Andy didn't know about the betrayal. They didn't know that the Kosovo militia knew they were in the neighbourhood and that any minute now, the entire corrupt bunch of bastards could be all over their arses. Kosovo had never really recovered from the devastating civil war. Run by gangs of Mafia-like criminals, the UN's so-called 'control' of the country was nothing short of a joke. Corruption and violence were a cancer, spreading through the entire country and making it almost impossible to know just who to trust. Danny took the view that trusting nobody was probably the best course of action right now…

He heard the crack of a twig behind him and came around, the M4 already in position, safety catch off…

"Ease up there, Clint Eastwood, it's only me." Andy emerged from the bushes, a grin on his grime-covered face. "Bloody hell, Dan, you're jumpy, mate. Problem?"

"Don't like people creeping up on me, old son. Made that mistake with Granger earlier. The bugger nearly pig-stuck me. Don't intend to make the same mistake." He swung the M4 up and relaxed his stance.

Andy leaned his gun against the bonnet of the Land Rover and chuckled. "Yeah, he's a right old enigma, that one, isn't he?"

"Meaning?"

"Meaning I heard that conversation you had with him in the Landy on the way here, mate." Andy looked serious for a moment. "Something I should know about?"

Danny slowly put down the holdall and stood up straight, looking directly at his colleague. His blue eyes were icy cold. "You questioning the Guv's orders, Andy?"

"What? No, Jesus no, Danny! I just…"

"You just _nothing, _Corporal!" He moved silently and effortlessly. In a split second, he was no more than an inch in front of the tall man, studying him closely and snarling viciously. "You have _no idea _what that man is capable of, Thompson. _No fuckin' idea. _And that conversation you _claim _you overheard? You did _not hear it_, am I clear?"

Andy snapped to attention. "Yes Sarge!"

"Your job is to follow orders. _Granger's _orders. And if he orders you to strip off stark bollock naked and dance around with your underpants on your fuckin' head to distract the enemy, and believe me, you lanky streak of piss, that would be one _hell _of a distraction to any right thinking man or beast, _you will fuckin' __**do it**__, _crystal?"

"Crystal, Sarge!"

Danny paused, studying the man. Andy Thompson was a damn good bang man, but he had only been with the regiment for a few months. And Danny wasn't in a very trusting mood right now… He stepped back, his face impassive. "Good." He nodded towards the hidden Land Rover. "Get what you need from the Landy. Prep for anything, but don't take anything you can't carry in a Burgen, understood?"

"Understood, Sarge."

Danny picked up the holdall and swung it over his shoulder. "Once you're done, make sure there's no tracks."

"I can always put it in the pond next to the Toyota if you want…"

"Oh, I see, righty-ho mister smart-arse, and how the fuck do we get _out of here again_ if you _do_, you dipshit? Even Landy's aren't immune to complete immersion in fuckin' pondwater, you idiot!" Danny sighed. "Remind me. How the fuck did you get into the regiment again? Sleep with the CO's fuckin' _wife_?" He picked up his M4 and two other bags, arranging them carefully over his shoulders. "Cover the Landy up. Make sure the area's secure. I see one single track and I'll let Colby loose on you, got it?"

"Got it, Sarge."

Without another word, Danny walked away, leaving the bang man to gather his kit.

Andy Thompson watched the stocky, powerfully built man disappear into the forest and his eyes narrowed…

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Marcus tapped at the keyboard. As he worked, he gave Colby a running commentary. "This thing's running on bloody Windows three point one, Guv. More out of date than one of Andy's fuckin' condoms. Completely incompatible with anything we use. But I can run the files through a converter so Micky should be able to read 'em. As soon as I've got that cleared, I can run it through an encryption code and send it as a data stream using the SIM card on the mobile." He worked quickly, his stubby fingers surprisingly quick as they danced over the keyboard. "Once we link up, I can upload the file and hey presto, it's somebody else's problem." He flashed a brief grin at the American, but then the smile melted away. "Guv, look, I know I might be talking out of turn here, sir, but that document? It …"

"…Like you said Marcus, it is somebody else's problem." Colby gave the Englishman a reassuring smile and patted him on the shoulder. "Good work, bud. Let me know as soon as you have the uplink in place. I need to talk to Dee."

"Copy that." Marcus turned back to the keyboard and Colby straightened up, stretching the stiff muscles in his back as he did so. As he turned, he faced his friend and oppo. Danny had a serious look on his face. He nodded briefly to the open door and turned silently. Colby frowned and followed his friend out…

Danny made sure they were well out of earshot before he started talking. His voice was low, quiet and urgent. "I've found us a new bolt hole about half a click from here. Old cow shed, stinks of shit but plenty of cover."

"Okay." Colby nodded, but the green eyes bored deep into Danny's own blue ones. Danny felt like he was being studied under a microscope. Granger had that same way of peeling away the layers of your soul that Diane did. It unnerved Danny slightly…"So, we've got a bolt hole, a head start and a secure link to Dee and you're frowning _why_, exactly?"

Danny chuckled. "No hidin' anything from you, is there?" He waited for a response but Colby just continued to stare hard at him, waiting for an answer… "It's Andy."

"What about him?"

"I…I dunno." Danny shrugged. "Can't put my finger on it, mate. Just how that bastard Valamov said they'd known we were on the move since Athens. That couldn't've come from your lot, mate. This mission's completely under the radar. That had to be from the ground up intel, Guv."

Colby laid a hand on Danny's shoulder and shook his head briefly. He guided him a little further from the office to a quiet corner of the upper level of the barn. When he was quite certain that their conversation could not be overheard, he turned sharply to face Danny, his face utterly unreadable. "Explain." The word was harsh, sharp and tinged with an urgency they both understood. If Danny had a gut feeling that something was wrong, Colby was taking that feeling very seriously indeed. They'd both been in this position before…

"Thompson has been with the regiment for six months, Col. After what happened last time, security has been pretty fuckin' tight, ya know. After Mountbatten."

"You tellin' me you got suspicions about Andy?"

"Not exactly, Guv, but…"

"But _what_, Danny?"

Danny ran a hand through his short, blonde hair and sighed. "Guv, this is his first real covert job."

"You think he's not up to it?"

"I'm sayin', Col, that he's green. He hasn't worked on an operation like this before. He doesn't know how it runs. He's done plenty of stuff in the regulars, but so far he's been bomb _disposal_, not demolition." Danny sighed. "Look, I'm not saying he's not up to the job, Guv. I'm just not too sure if he realises that, well, in a place like this, the rulebook sorta goes out the window. I don't know if he's ready to cross that line, mate."

Colby scowled angrily. "You gave me your word about these guys, bud. You tellin' me you're having second thoughts here?"

"Honestly?" Danny frowned. "Yes. I'm having second thoughts, Guv. Not that he can pull his weight, but whether he's got the cojones for it. He's still technically on probation."

The admission surprised Colby, but it was one of the things he liked about Danny. He was brutally honest and completely trustworthy. Knowing he had Danny watching his back made Colby feel much less alone right now… He sighed. "Bud, we can't afford passengers. If you're having doubts, then he's off the mission. I'll turn him around right now. It's your call, Dan." He laid a hand on his friend's shoulder and looked at him kindly, waiting for Danny's reply…

"We're seven hours away from ingress. Too late to turn someone around now, Guv. And he might be a bit green, but he's a fuckin' good bang man, mate, I know that for a fact. Nah, I'll keep an eye on him…"

"No. Team him with Marcus. You're with me." Colby leaned back against a post and ran a hand over his face. He refocused his attention on Danny and the Englishman felt himself come under that penetrating gaze again, peeling past the practical doubts and deeper into Danny's personal gut feeling… "Anything _else_, Dan?" Colby frowned briefly.

"You mean do I _trust _the bugger?" Danny kept his face as neutral as possible, but he knew, he _knew_ that Colby could practically hear the doubt nagging away at the back of his mind. He didn't answer. His silence was enough to convince Colby. He grunted in response and filed the conversation away for later. They still had a mission to finish…

"Okay. We've got the rest of the day. You got everything we need?"

"All sorted, Guv. Andy's picking up what he needs and then covering up the Landy. Thought it would be a plan B to leave it in situ. Could give us a route out afterwards."

"That's a long old yomp back, bud, with a damn good chance of pursuit through hostile terrain. We're gonna need to get out of there pretty damn quick. They know this area a damn sight better than we do. It'll put us at one hell of a disadvantage if we have to get out in a real fuckin' hurry. Any chance of moving it closer to the target?"

"Not without drawing attention to ourselves." Danny pulled out a tattered map of the area and opened it. He shifted his position to take advantage of a shaft of sunlight and Colby followed suit, already studying the map. "There's two direct routes back, one from the primary here, and the other from the new bolthole here." Danny traced out the alternative routes on the map. "Ground cover's so thick, we'd hear any approach long before it got to us. Plus, there's only a couple of tracks that any pursuit vehicles could use, the rest of the ground is too overgrown for anything with wheels. Andy can set trips on the way out, so if we do have company, chances are the clumsy bastards'll blow their own arses off." Danny grinned briefly. "We just need to make sure we avoid our own tripwires, get back to the Landy, leave through the west and aim straight for the border. It'll take us away from any unfriendlies and we'll have a damn sight better chance of getting out of this craphole alive. Piece of piss, mate. Piece of piss."

Colby laughed quietly. Danny's innocent seeming optimism was actually tinged with professional practicality. The plan was a good one. Danny had done his job to an exceptional standard. And the straightforward, businesslike approach to a fluid and dangerous situation proved exactly why he was considered to be one of the best logistics experts in the field. "Okay. Get some rest, bud." Colby pushed himself off the post and started to move back towards the office. As he passed Danny, he paused and touched the man on the shoulder. He muttered quietly. "And check the Landy, Danny. Ya know. Just in case."

Danny nodded. The doubts he had about Andy Thompson were still nagging at him. And now they were nagging at Colby. Danny chastised himself inwardly. He was second in command. It was his job to make sure his CO had complete focus on the mission. He was responsible for the men, acting as a buffer between petty problems and the mission. He'd failed. By burdening Colby with his unfounded doubts, he'd given the American yet another problem to cope with...

As Colby walked slowly back to the run-down office, he went over the conversation he had just had with his friend. Not again, dear _God_, not again...

He approached the doorway and a swarthy dark face peeped around the doorframe. "Guv? Linkup established." Marcus held out an earpiece.

Colby nodded his thanks to Marcus and took the earpiece…

333333

Andy Thompson packed the last of his fuses into a holdall and shut the tailgate of the Land Rover. As the door slammed shut, Andy noticed something fall from the underside of the truck. He scowled and bent down, looking amongst the dirt and leaves. A tiny black box lay in the leaf litter, a single red LED light flashing. He carefully picked it up and clicked the talk button on his radio, studying the black box as he spoke. "Zulu three. Danny? I think you and the Guv better come and have a look at this…."

3333333

"Guv?" Micky ripped the earpiece from his head and held it out, a serious look on his face. "I think you need to 'ave a look at this..."

Diane frowned briefly. She had been in the middle of a discussion with Lieutenant Walker and Don, trying to piece together the jigsaw puzzle that was the gang shoot out. "Excuse me, gentlemen, would you?" A small smile flashed across her face as she turned abruptly and walked towards her colleague.

Gary Walker watched her shift her concentration fully towards the computer screen and raised an eyebrow. "Extraordinary woman, Eppes." He nodded towards the tall Englishwoman and Don followed his gaze. "Good tactician."

Don grinned broadly. "Gary, believe me. You ain't seen _nothin_', yet, buddy!" The two men watched closely…

Micky suddenly pressed a finger to his earpiece and glanced up at Diane. "Guv, linkup active. Incoming transmission." He ripped the earpice off and handed it to Diane.

Diane clipped the earpiece on and adjusted the mike briefly. "Firecracker. Go ahead."

"_Hey baby."_

Diane allowed a warm smile to spread across her lips. "Hey you." The smile vanished. "Report?"

"_Neighbourhood's gone to shit. We've decided this hotel doesn't have the right facilities, ya know, no swimming pool, mini-bar's a bust…"_

"Thunderhorse, just give me the damn facts, would you? I have no idea how long this link's gonna hold!"

_"Relocating. Paying a visit to the relatives in time for supper. Got a postcard for Micky, sending now_."

Micky tapped at a laptop and studied the screen. He glanced up. "Got the postcard, Guv."

"Postcard's arrived. Anything else?" There was a pause on the other end of the line and Diane frowned. "CJ?"

_"Uncle's not well_."

Uncle's not well. Diane felt the bile rising in her stomach. Not again, dear _God_, not again…

"Repeat, Thunderhorse, repeat…"

"_I say again. Uncle is not well. Will let you know what the new hotel is like when we get there. Stand by, Firecracker…_"

Diane's fingers flexed on the hard surface of the table as she waited for Colby to speak again. She could hear the crackle of a radio in the background and a sharp and short conversation between Colby and Danny, followed by a violent curse from Colby. She glanced at her colleague – Micky was hearing everything too. His hand balled into a fist as he tried to cover up his emotions. He knew what the code meant. This was the worst possible news…

"_Firecracker, please confirm that the whole family's not coming down with a cold. Especially worried about the kids. We may have car trouble too. Seems the satnav's been playing up. Baby?" _Colby paused again. _"Watch your back, okay?"_

"Copy that, Thunderhorse. Rotate your signal on band three. Foxtrot three seven two nine. Every thirty minutes, point zero five each time. Colby?" Diane's voice softened. "Stay safe."

_"Fully intend to, Firecracker. Thunderhorse out_." The line went dead…

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Don closed the door and stared at the two ex soldiers. David was frowning deeply. He knew something was very wrong. He'd learned to read the British and their strange ways. They were actually much easier to understand, once you'd moved past the clinical, matter of fact way they did business, the bone dry sense of humour and the almost unintelligible banter that past between them, sometimes at machine-gun speed. There was none of the political manoeuvrings you had with other agency spooks. Just like his friend and partner, these spies were some of the most honest, straightforward people he'd ever met…

"Okay Dee. From the top." Don wasn't in the mood to waste time with conversation.

"Last report from Colby was that they had been burned. They're changing location and moving in on the compound tonight. They have a suspicion that the entire operation has been compromised from the start. Colby has asked me to check into the backgrounds of Marcus Bowen and Andy Thompson." She looked apologetic. "They're our guys on the mission with Colby."

Don looked furious for a second. "You telling me that Colby thinks there's another damn traitor in the mix?"

"Not necessarily, Don. But we have to check every aspect. No matter how painful that may be." For a moment, both of the British ex-soldiers looked deeply dismayed. The regiment had been shaken to the core by Mountbatten's treachery. A repeat of that treachery by another one of the team would be unthinkable… "Look, Don, I don't believe for a moment that we've got a loose canon in the ranks. But we need to be sure. The use of cold means that it's only a suspicion right now. If he'd have said flu, we'd have a much bigger problem."

"Don't you people ever speak goddamn _English_?" David frowned angrily.

"The satnav comment was Col's way of telling us the vehicle had been tracked." Micky sat back on the corner of a table and crossed his arms.

"How could that have happened?" Don stopped pacing and spun around, staring hard at Micky.

"Well, satnavs are bolt-ons. That means they'd been tacked by a tracking device. That's why they've had unwelcome company. Could've been stuck on anywhere, any time and by anyone. The mission's set to start at around eight forty five tonight their time, that's in…" he glanced quickly at his watch, "about seven hours from now. Hence the visit timed for 'supper' ." He glanced towards Diane and she picked up from his pause.

Diane walked around to the opposite corner of Micky's table and sat down. "The biggest worry is the information that Uncle isn't well. Uncle is code for Uncle Sam, meaning the US. He isn't well?" She shrugged. "Means…"

"I think I can guess what that means, Dee." Don paced for a moment, his head in his hand, desperately trying to make sense of the mass of information and the onslaught of yet another brush with a world he loathed. Treachery. More than anything, this tore at his soul. He could handle the murders, the shootings, the gang land wars, the drug dealers and the crack houses. He could even handle terrorism. But having to be the ones to police their own people was something he hadn't signed up for. And it seemed to be happening more and more. Every time felt like being sucked into a vortex over which he had absolutely no control. And he _hated_ it…

Diane's voice was soft. "I'm sorry, Don, the message was clear. Colby has confirmation. The leak's from your end."

_"What?_"

"Sorry mate, it's there in black and white. The tail they picked up was getting its intel straight from Washington." Micky leaned across the table and tapped a couple of keys on a laptop. On the plasma screen, pages of documents cascaded up, each one bearing the insignia of the CIA.

"Man, I do not _believe_ this…" David sat down heavily into a chair and stared despondently at the screen.

"In a little over seven hours time, we'll have the intel from the compound. As soon as it comes through, I'll be able to connect the dots. Find out exactly how this links in with our problem this end."

"Problem? You call blowing the crap outta a goddamn military base and starting a gangland war a freakin' _problem?_" Don's voice was filled with anger and utter disbelief. Not just that, once again, the situation seemed to be spiralling out of control, but that Colby was now in terrible danger. Not just from his enemies on the ground in Kosovo. But from unseen enemies behind desks in Washington…

"Don, this is all small fry compared to what we're trying to stop from happening, remember?" Diane's voice was neutral. "Our primary objective is to stop a terrorist attack in the centre of LA. May I make a suggestion?"

Don stared in confusion at the Englishwoman. The question was unexpected, to say the least.

Diane picked up on Don's momentary confusion and sighed. "Look, Don. This is _your_ operation. We're here as support. We do things your way, that's a given. But if I can suggest that Micky and I concentrate on the intelligence side of things, your people carry on investigating the robbery at the base and Lieutenant Walker can tackle the gang war aspect? As long as we make sure all the threads tie together…"

"And what about Colby?" David couldn't stop himself any longer. His friend was in trouble. And there was nothing he could do about it…

Diane opened her mouth to speak but Micky interrupted. "Remember what I said to you in the lift, mate?" He raised an eyebrow at David. "We'll make sure Col gets out okay. That's a promise. If I have to fly out there my fuckin' self and blast the damn country into the arse end of bumblefuck and back, I'll_ get him out_, Dave." Micky stood up. "Guv, I'm gonna go through that data. See if I can get some updates from our birds. Satellite imaging might give us a head's up to any changes."

"Keep chatter to a minimum, Mick. If they've been tracked, their location could be traced if they've got any sniffers in the area. Rotate the frequencies to match Colby's. Do an Enigma on it."

"Copy that, Guv." Micky slipped quietly out of the room and back to the bank of computers he'd set up in Tommy's room.

Don watched him leave and then turned back to Diane. "You keep nothing from us, am I clear?"

"Crystal, Don."

"What the hell's doing an Enigma?" David frowned. His thoughts were still with his friend thousands of miles away…

"The Enigma machine was a code device used by the Nazis in the second world war. They used a machine that had a basic typewriter keyboard, but each key stroke operated a different wheel. The operator set the order of wheels used each day according to instructions from their central command. Because of the millions of possible combinations, it was almost impossible to break. Our lot devoted an entire department to breaking the Enigma code."

"Bletchley Park. Yeah, I remember seeing a film about it." Don scratched at his head idly and frowned.

"Well nowadays, we have slightly more technologically advanced ways of doing essentially what they did then. We send a coded message, but rotate the frequency it's sent on. By the time their sniffers have located the frequency, the signal's been sent and we've changed the signal route. You rotate on signal frequencies you know are going to be pretty congested, That way you can hide underneath the usual chatter…and…cover up…" Diane's voice faded away and she stopped, frowning deeply.

"Dee?"

She suddenly looked up. "That's how they're doing it! The cheeky little fuckers!"

"That's how who's doing _what_, for Christ's sake?" David suddenly lost his grasp of the British way of thinking…

"Remember when I showed you the original emails? We knew that there was something else behind the message, but we hadn't been able to work out what?" Diane stood up quickly. "Think, mate. Where's the best place to hide something?"

Don stared quizzically at her. "I dunno, in plain sight is always the saying…"

"Exactly! In plain sight! There's a new form of steganography, Don, we had a demonstration on it a couple of weeks ago. I didn't think they'd be up on the latest techniques, but if there is a link with the CIA, then it would be obvious that they would know about it."

"Seriously, Dee, what the hell are you talking about? Because you've got two real confused Americans here, Captain!"

David flashed a fleeting smile. "Damn, Eppes, she's as bad as your brother sometimes!"

"Don, did you notice something weird on the email attachment?"

"Like?"

"Like if you were sending a supposed email talking about a family event, would you use _bullet points?_"

Don shook his head. "Nah, now you mention it, that did seem a bit weird…"

"Still not following over here…" David tentatively raised a hand.

"Okay, here's the thing." Diane moved towards the door and pulled it open. "COX! GET YOUR FAT ARSE BACK IN HERE!" She held the door open as Micky leapt from his seat three rooms away and ran down the corridor." As she waited for the man to sprint back to the war room, she talked quickly. "Nobody uses bullet points on a document unless it's business. And the type size was all wrong. The bullets were too big." She paused as Micky rushed in, a concerned look on his face.

"Where's the bleedin' fire?"

David pointed at the Englishwoman who had moved to the centre of the room and was staring hard at the plasma screen. Micky nodded and slid fluidly into the chair in front of the laptop.

"Mick, pull up the original emails we skimmed from the URLs, would you?"

"On it." Micky tapped a few keys. The original emails popped up onto the plasma screen. Diane pointed at the screen.

"Right. Now open the attachment." Micky clicked on the paperclip icon and the attachment opened up.

"See the bullet points?"

"Yeah, and?" Don frowned as he studied the images.

"Okay, now put the cursor over the first bullet point, right click and give me the document properties."

Micky glanced briefly at his boss, but did as he was told. As the properties came up, Micky frowned. "Now_ that_ doesn't make any sense…"

"What?" David's curiosity was getting the better of him and he moved in closer, trying desperately to see what the Englishwoman saw. He couldn't see it…

"The properties usually give the sender's details, the path it takes, ya know, garbage that if you know what you're looking for, can give you everything you need to trace a URL. But this is saying that this isn't a normal attachment. It's a_ Powerpoint_ document." Micky frowned again. "And this bugger's _way _too big."

"Too big?" David was now staring intently at the image on the screen.

"As in it's saying it's at least two hundred k. A file this size should be twenty, thirty k, max."

"Which means there's something else in that file!" Don suddenly realised what Diane was talking about. "In plain sight. Whatever intelligence they've sent on this email, it's right in front of us. But where, Dee? _Where_?"

"Right. Shift it over into Powerpoint." Micky transferred the file and waited for Diane's next command… "Zoom in on the page, bring it up to about times four." Click… "Times six…" Click…"There!" She pointed at the bullet point. "Notice how it's slightly squared off on the corners?"

"Fuck me, Guv! How the hell…"

"Border that and drag and click the bullet point out of the way." Micky clicked again and a second dot appeared, hidden beneath the bullet point. "Pick it up and expand, Mick."

Micky sat back, staring at the screen in disbelief. Don threw a glance towards his friend and David responded with an equally confused look.

David felt sick to his stomach. The excitement of finding additional information had been rudely shattered by the realisation that this went much further than a simple terrorist attack. Something was terribly, terribly wrong…

"Gotchya, you bastards!" Diane smiled darkly as she studied the document that had opened in front of them. She straightened up. "Mick, check the rest of it. Get me anything you can. And Micky? Use a secure computer, mate." She turned to Don and stared at him with hard, emerald green eyes. "Does that help?"

Don shook his head in disbelief. "You're a freakin' marvel, Armstrong, you know that?"

Diane raised an eyebrow. "Getting the intel's only half the job, my friend. Now, we have to _use_ it. Micky, once you've got everything you can, get in touch with our people back home. I think we better take care of Colby's egress out of that shit hole, don't you? Especially after seeing that…" She jabbed a thumb at the terrorist's email attachment.

Sitting proudly at the top of the page was a mighty American Bald Eagle.

The insignia of the CIA…

_**TBC…..**_


	11. Hades' Sewer

Disclaimer

With Numb3rs storming in the ratings and a growing movement online campaigning to save the show, this 'ere is a brief nag to make sure you're doing your bit by writing to Nina Tassler, signing the petition and generally kicking up stink about CBS's half-arsed decision to cut season six short. While we may not get those 'lost six episodes' back, we're now more determined than ever to make sure there's a season seven to make up for it. We will not go silently into that dark and Numb3rless night!

A-hem…

Anyhoo, I, wot writ this, do not have any claim or control over the characters of Numb3rs, what they get up to during hiatussssssessss (how do you _stop _spelling that?), how they take their coffee or anything to do with the show. I DO, however, own this story, the various Brit-raff characters and the general gist of the thing. And I'll stomp on anyone who says otherwise…

Usual warning applies for violence, swearing, scenes of a graphic nature and unintelligible Cockney slang.

Roll credits and wonky Numb3rs board…

* * *

Danny hadn't been lying. The new bolt hole was an old cowshed that hadn't been cleaned out in years. The pungent odour of manure and the sharp but stale tang of ammonia in the air told the four men that the shed hadn't seen bovine occupation for some time, but nothing, not even time, could diminish the stench of years of agricultural usage. Marcus wrinkled his nose up in disgust. "Bloody hell, Smithy! This place stinks worse than your barrack room shithouse, mate!"

"Ah, shuddup yer moaning Bowen and suck it up like a man!" Danny playfully cuffed the stocky Northerner around the ear and went to throw down a hold-all on the floor of the shack.

"Whoa! Easy there, Sarge. That's got my toys in." Andy gingerly took the hold-all from Danny's fingers and set it down gently in the corner. Bending over the bag, he unzipped it and started checking the contents. Danny grunted and shrugged.

"Plastique don't go bang unless you've got a detonator stuck in the damn stuff."

"Shows how much you know then, mate. You start throwing it around too much and it's just like dynamite. It starts sweating." He paused, a completely serious look on his face. But Marcus could see the twinkle of mischief in Andy's eyes and turned away, grinning broadly to himself. Andy studied Danny for a second, his hand resting on one thigh and his other lost in the black recesses of the hold-all. "Course, when it _does _start to sweat, so should you. 'Ere. _Catch_!" He tossed a brick of the play dough-like material to his sergeant and grinned broadly as Danny almost fumbled the catch. "Blimey, Smith, don't ever try out for the regimental cricket team, will you? You suck at catch."

Marcus turned and stared at Andy, a mock-surprised look on his face. "We have a regimental cricket team? Since _when_?"

"Bollocks, Thompson, you bloody wind-up merchant." Danny sniffed in irritation and suddenly sneezed violently.

"Marvellous. A sergeant with allergies." Marcus grumbled quietly in the corner and flinched as Danny's hand made contact with his ear again. He rubbed his ear and scowled furiously at the grinning Londoner. "Do that one more time, cocker, and I'll…"

"Do what again and you'll do what to whom? You kids playing nice or do I have to take your toys away from you again?" Colby ducked in through the low doorway and grinned broadly.

"Everything alright, Guv?" Danny's demeanour instantly changed from the light-hearted barrack-room banter to instant professionalism in a heartbeat.

"Yeah, sweet. There was a tractor heading south on the main road, so I stuck the tracker to the backside of a very old, very rusty Massey Ferguson. By the time they've worked out that it's on the wrong vehicle, we should be long gone." Colby carefully leaned his FMP90 against a broken drinking trough and unclipped his ammo belt. He glanced around and finally found a relatively clean place to sit. "Damn it, Danny, seriously? _This _is the best you could find?" He grinned brightly at the Englishman.

"Oh, don't _you_ bloody start, Granger!" Danny scowled light-heartedly and held out a cup and a metal canteen. "Brew. In between cussing a blue streak and complaining about the décor, Marcus has actually managed to throw together some half decent nosebag and a cuppa."

"Cheers, bud." Colby gratefully took the canteen and started to eat the rations.

"Any idea where that tracker came from, Guv?" Andy had finished sorting out his kit and stood up, stretching his legs.

"Nope." Colby shovelled another spoonful of the rations into his mouth and chewed, focusing on the food, not the questioner. After another spoonful though, he glanced up. "Do you?"

There was silence in the shed.

"I…hang on Guv, what the hell's _that _supposed to mean?" Andy's hackles rose.

"It doesn't mean _anything_, Andy. I'm just asking a simple question, is all." Colby's face was expressionless, but the piercing green eyes bored into Andy like two lasers…

"Yeah, but what are you implying by it?"

Colby put down the canteen and looked up impassively. "Again, I'm not implying _anything_, my friend. Just that we have a problem, we're not too sure _why _and to be honest, we're four hours away from ingress and I don't particularly give a crap. I can sort that out later." He picked up the tin mug and swallowed a mouthful of tea, washing down the last of the rations. All three Brits were focused on him, waiting for his next order.

Colby took his time. He'd had a chance to look at the tracking device before he'd managed to plant it firmly on the back of a rusting tractor that had trundled by. It was US issue, not British. Those provocative two words had told him all he needed to know. All three men had reacted as he had expected. Danny with deep concern and yet another accusatory glance at Andy. Andy had been defensive, not overly, but enough to convince Colby that the man was as surprised as any of them. Marcus had merely grunted and muttered something about 'bloody Greek security forces', but that was all. There was no doubt that someone was trying to make their lives as difficult as possible, but he was certain it was none of the men who shared a meal with him. So who?

Colby sniffed sharply and stood up, discarding the last dregs of the tea on the floor. He studied the three men briefly. "Look guys. We have a mission to complete. I want no more recriminations about this. We got tagged, is all." He shrugged. "It could've happened anywhere."

"That Landy hasn't been out of my sight, Guv, I swear on my mother's life…"

Colby held up a hand, stopping the Englishman in mid-sentence. "Danny, _enough_. I'm _not _making any accusations, there's no blame here, okay? I'm merely stating a fact. The problem has been dealt with for now. We carry on, we adapt if needs be, but we _hit that camp tonight_. We've got," he glanced at his watch, "four hours before sun down. Andy, are the trip wires in place?"

"Yes Guv. Anyone goes off-road, they'll know about it. And so will we. I've set up alarm wires around the perimeter as well, ya know. Just in case."

"Good. Marcus, set up some comms, would ya? I want one last link up with Dee before we go."

"On it."

"Andy, I want you to study the layout of the place. Look for weak spots."

"Such as?"

Colby grinned briefly. "Ah, ya know. The usual. Fuel dumps, gas cylinders, basically anything that could go bang in a really, really big way. In a really, _really _big way that could _totally _be accidental and absolutely nothing whatsoever _at all_ to do with a small bunch of black ops boys hitting it with a shit load of explosives and mischief in their hearts. Preferably something that could be big enough to be seen from space?" He raised an eyebrow and a feral smile flickered across his lips.

A slow, lazy and very unpleasant smile spread across Andy's face. "Oh, I am all _over _it, Guv!"

Colby merely nodded. "Good. Danny, you and I are gonna take one last spin around the block. I wanna see if anything's changed since last night."

Danny nodded and picked up his M4, following Colby out of the cowshed. They wandered into the surrounding forest – both of them knew the area was secure, but Danny also knew that Colby wanted to talk to him alone…

"So. That tracker…"

"Was US issue, bud." Colby stopped and scanned the dense forest, looking for any sign of movement.

"So it wasn't…ya know."

Colby turned and studied his friend. "Nope my friend, the leak isn't your end, it's mine. What, you thought I was accusing Andy in there?"

"_He_ certainly did, Guv."

"Yeah, well, how he interpreted what I said is not my problem, Andy. It's his." Colby swung the FMP90 in front of him and rested his hands across its body, cradling the gun almost like a baby. He looked relaxed but alert – every inch the expert soldier Danny knew that he was. That intense gaze rested on Danny and Colby sighed quietly. "Listen Danny. Yesterday you swore to me that these guys were okay. I believe you, Danny, I _have _to. I get that we have a problem here, bud, I do. I get that. But right now we don't have time to fuck about with what ifs, buts and maybes, my friend. We have a job to do." He pointed at the cowshed. "Question is, bud, do _you _trust these guys? Because if you don't…"

Danny held a hand up. "No Col. I trust 'em. But _somebody's _trying to royally screw us over mate. You think I missed that look in your eyes when you shot that son of a bitch earlier? You know we've got a fuckin' good chance of not making it out of here alive. You could've called an abort right there and then, but you didn't. You could've called an abort when we found the tracker, but you didn't. So I'm guessing that no matter what these bastards throw at us, you're not gonna quit until we've seen the inside of that camp, right?" Colby didn't answer and Danny smiled quietly. "Yeah, just as I thought. Fuckin' Duracell bunny you are, old son. You just keep going and going and going, right?" He let out a short laugh. "So riddle me this, Granger. What do you expect to find in that camp that makes you chance everything we've got, including our lives, our reputations and our bleedin' bollocks in a vice? What's so damn important about this intel, Col?"

"It's not just the intel, bud."

"Now why am I _not _surprised to hear you say that? You've been spoilin' for a fight ever since we told you about their target practice sessions, ain't ya?"

Colby didn't answer for a few seconds. He studied the leaf litter of the forest floor, taking in the smells and sounds of the forest, breathing them in, letting the clean air clear his head. He glanced up, the green eyes soft. "The intel's our primary, Dan. That hasn't changed."

"But?"

"But I can't do a silent in and out and then just walk away from the place, knowing full well that the sons of bitches are going to carry on doin' exactly what they've been doin' to those villagers. Nor chance the fact that they may be planning to train other terrorist cells." The softness disappeared and his green eyes hardened. He sniffed sharply and straightened up. "Not one single stick left standing, Danny. I want that place razed to the fuckin' ground." He strolled past Danny and started to walk back to the cowshed.

"You're gonna bring a fuckin' firestorm down on our heads, mate. Your orders…"

"…My orders are to get the intel." Colby stopped and turned back. "And I fully intend to do that. Any fallout afterwards is on me, bud. Not you guys. Okay?" He didn't wait for Danny to respond, but turned away again, walking quickly and silently back to the shed.

Danny watched the big American's back retreat through the forest. He chuckled quietly to himself. "Granger, you're a fuckin' lunatic. Gawd bless your crazy Yankie arse, things are never boring when you're around!" He swung the M4 across his back and followed his CO back to the bolt hole…

3333333

Andy looked up as Colby ducked back into the shed. "I think I've got something here, Guv." He beckoned and Granger moved behind him, studying the aerial photographs of the compound that cascaded onto the screen of the laptop. "These are geosat pictures from about twenty four hours ago. Look here." He pointed. "That's a domestic oil tank. I zoomed in on the indicator needle and, okay, yeah, it was a bit on the blurry side, but I could see it was almost empty. Now have a look at this picture. This one's about ten hours old. See how the shadow under the tank is less visible? Not because of the position of the sun, but because of the weight. It's _closer to the ground_. So I zoomed in a bit closer and..." He looked away from the computer screen and rummaged briefly amongst a blizzard of maps on the makeshift table. "Ah, here it is." He handed up a fuzzy black and white image to Colby.

Colby took the picture and studied it carefully. "The needle's on full."

"Yup, the buggers only went and made it easy for me. They've had a delivery. That little beauty holds about two thousand litres of oil." Andy grinned. "Highly combustible, go bang in a really big way kinda fuel oil." He put on an expression of mock concern. "It would be a terrible accident and such a terrible, terrible shame if that big, sloshy full tank packed to the gills with fuel oil were to rupture and _accidentally _flow towards this main complex here, wouldn't it? Especially if somebody discarded a cigarette or other highly flammable initiator such as, oh, I dunno, a small amount of C4, in its path?" He grinned again. "It would be…"

"…An absolute tragedy. One of those tragic, _tragic _accidents." Colby smiled nastily and handed the picture back to Andy. "What kind of escape window we looking at?"

"I can rig the tank to rupture with some blasting cord. The trick isn't to make a hole, but to rip a bleedin' great tear in the skin. These tanks are old, and they're made of a plastic polymer that gets brittle with age. They're prone to splitting. I'm just gonna kinda encourage it to split a little bit earlier than normal. With two thousand litres in there, the spread should be sufficient to reach the cookhouse here." Andy pointed to the map. "There's three seventy five litre propane cylinders with really rusty pipework feeding the kitchen. A second charge by the propane and the resulting explosion should be seen on fuckin' _Mars_, mate."

Colby frowned but nodded. "Okay, I like, but instead of using blasting cord to split the tank, is there any way you can do it quietly? I don't wanna give these guys a head's up any sooner than we have to."

"A battle knife won't go through it, Guv. You'd be there for fuckin' hours trying to stab that bugger. It might be brittle, but it's tough as old boots to cut through with a blade."

Colby shook his head. "Nah, I wasn't thinking of that, Andy. Marcus? You got a soldering iron or blowtorch or something in that bag of tricks of yours?"

"Yeah, a little gas powered one. Why?"

"That kinda plastic doesn't like direct heat, does it?"

Andy shook his head. "No. But it depends on the temperature of the soldering iron. Marcus?" He glanced over at his colleague.

"Hold up, I'll have a look." Marcus rummaged in his hold-all and pulled out a small, gas-powered soldering iron. The portable device was used to solder components on his communication equipment, and was a lightweight, compact and self contained unit. He peered at the iron. "Up to about five hundred degrees on full."

Andy grinned broadly. "That'll melt it like a chocolate cake on a hot day, mate. But it won't ignite the oil because the flame'll be sucking out the oxygen as it cuts. Besides, at that point, it won't have any kind of a wick to ignite it. No oxygen and no wick, oil no go bangy. But a double blast on the propane and a small amount of propellant material to act as a wick, say, an old tee-shirt," Andy reached into his hold-all and pulled out a plain green, military issue tee-shirt. "That'll be enough to turn the stuff into fuckin' napalm. The damn place'll be an inferno."

Colby smiled broadly. "Perfect. Right. Let's go over this one last time." The four men gathered around the makeshift table and studied the maps in front of them. Danny stood to Colby's right, watching every move intently. This was what Colby was supremely good at. There had been plenty of times in the past when he'd stood as right hand man on one of the American's briefings. He knew how good the Yank was at tactics. And now with Andy's report, they finally had a chance at turning this mission into a success…

"We hit the town after sun down. Danny and I have already scoped the tunnel entrance. Marcus, I'll need you to disarm the alarm system."

"I've already had a think about that. From what Danny's told me, should be a piece of piss."

"Good, but don't get complacent. This guy is highly trained, they know the tunnel's a weak spot and I can promise you there'll be at least one or two surprises waiting for us. Once we're in, we make our way to the centre of the compound. The guards rotate on a four-minute turn around. I don't want that interrupted, because until those cylinders go critical, I want everything in that camp to be sweetness and light, okay? Zero contact if at all possible. We're ghosts on this one, guys, okay?" Everyone nodded in agreement and Colby continued. "Awesome. Right, so once we're in, Danny and I will hit the main block and get as much intel as we can. How long will it take you to set the fourth of July celebrations up, Andy?"

"To cut through the tank?" Andy shrugged. "About four minutes. Another three to set the explosives and prime. Total, seven minutes, tops."

Colby turned to Danny. "Okay, that gives you and me seven minutes to get enough serious intel on their operations to warrant the tax dollars the good old US of A and your people have spent sending us over here." The men chuckled briefly at the flippancy of the American's tone. _This _was the Colby Granger of legend… "Once we're out and back in the tunnel, and as long as nobody's gotten silly with us in the meantime, you blow those cylinders. The resulting chaos should give us enough time to get out, get clear and back to the Landy. Once we're out, everyone'll be heading towards ground zero while we'll make a run for it. Cross country, we're looking at a sixty to ninety minute egress. Marcus, tell Diane to organise a welcoming party for us at these co-ordinates for," he glanced briefly at his watch, "oh two hundred." He glanced up. "Any questions?"

Marcus frowned. "I hate to be the one to say this, Guv, but…"

"…But what if things don't go according to plan, Marcus? What if we get burned before we're ready to get out?" Colby voiced the man's inner concerns word for word and Marcus frowned even deeper, surprised at the American's acute perception. Everything Danny had told him about the man had been true… He nodded, a new found and deeper respect for the 'bloody colonial' as he had heard Colonel Bridgewater affectionately refer to the man as bolstering his confidence in the ability of the plan to actually work. Colby grinned at him and shrugged. "Hey, well, in _that _case, just make it up as you go along, okay?" The humour suddenly vanished from Colby's face and was replaced in an instant by a dark, vicious look in his intense green eyes. "We shut these bastards _down,_ Marcus. With _extreme prejudice…"_

333333

The village had transformed from a busy community to a deserted ghost-town the instant the sun dropped behind the horizon. From their concealed vantage point above the village, the four men watched as window shutters were slammed closed, children hustled inside by frightened looking mothers and doorbolts slammed home. Within minutes, with the exception of a lone dog barking in some distant barn, the village was shrouded in silence. Marcus let out a soft whistle. "Bloody hell. It's like something out of Bram fuckin' Stoker!"

Danny turned to him, a puzzled look on his face. "It doesn't look anything _like _Whitby!"

Marcus rolled his eyes and sighed. "Thank you for that northern stereotypical comment, you soft southern pansy! No, you literary philistine, it's like the village at the foot of Dracula's castle. As soon as night falls, everyone shuts up shop and vanishes inside. I wouldn't be bloody surprised to see them poor bastards hanging garlic on the front bloody door!"

"We're dealing with a very different kinda vampire here, bud." Colby continued to study the village through his field glasses. "One that sucks the life out of these people through fear." He took the field glasses away from his eyes and continued to stare out over the village.

Danny could see just how deeply angry the man was. He'd seen the same expression on his face the last time they were in this godforsaken country. Before the operation had gone wrong, Colby had led a unit into a village similar to this one. The local crime lord had ruled the village with a rod of iron and a trunk full of Kalashnikovs. What had sickened Colby to his soul was the fact that the man also had a voracious sexual appetite for very young girls. Girls he found at the local orphanage…

Colby's retribution had been savage and utterly brutal. And every single man in that unit had willingly crossed some lines with him to ensure that neither the crime lord nor any of his followers ever touched another girl again. There had never been any retribution against them for that act of summary justice because immediately after the event, they had been well and truly shafted by their own people and Colby had suffered the most horrific and nightmarish few weeks of his life. Danny was determined that this time, things would be different. This time, they were going to get out…

Colby took one last look at the village and smiled to himself. He put the field glasses into his pocket and turned to the three Englishmen, that small, feral smile still on his lips.

"Gentlemen? _Let's go to work_…"

3333333

The four black shadows flitted through the deserted streets of the village, quickly finding the entrance to the tunnel again. While Andy, Danny and Colby crouched facing out, Marcus quickly worked on the alarm that rigged the entrance to the tunnel. Within seconds he had found the crucial wire and bypassed it, fooling the system into thinking that the alarm was undisturbed and still active. He picked the new padlock that bolted the steel door to the tunnel shut. Taking out an aerosol can, he squirted two short bursts onto the hinges, the lubricant preventing the rusting hinges from making any sound. The door swung open in almost total silence and Marcus turned briefly and whispered. "We're in."

He crouched down and scuttled into the tunnel, flipping his night vision goggles into place as he entered the gloom of the sewer. The three remaining men backed towards the entrance, ducking in one at a time as the last man scanned the village to make sure they had not been seen. Colby checked one last time and turned, ducking into the tunnel and pulling the door almost closed behind them. At least this way, if someone were to patrol the village and take a passing glance at the tunnel entrance from a moving vehicle, it would appear that all was normal. If they left it wide open, it would be a dead give-away that the tunnel had been breached…

The stench in the tunnel was almost overpowering and Marcus gagged as the foul smell of rotting corpses grabbed at the back of his throat. "Breathe through your mouths." Colby's harsh whisper carried along the tunnel and Marcus nodded in response. Beneath them, the ground was slick underfoot and in the gloom they could see the up the decaying remains of bodies, their clothes now rat-chewed rags and the bones of fingers protruding from the rotting flesh. The night vision goggles gave everything an eerie, phosphorus green cast.

"Jesus, they've been using this place as a dumping ground for the bodies!" Andy shuddered in disgust as a rat scuttled across his foot. The tunnel was cramped, claustrophobic and like something out of a vision of Hades itself. The macabre, grinning faces of the dead, their skin rotting back to reveal blackened teeth and vacant eye sockets, seemed to follow every move the four men made. The dead wanted revenge…

Marcus suddenly stopped dead and held up a clenched fist. The men stopped instantly, waiting for Marcus's command. He turned and looked directly at Andy. "Yer up, mate." He pointed down to a fine silver wire stretched across the tunnel. Andy moved past him carefully and studied the wire, his fingers delicately tracing its path back to a Claymore anti personnel mine, the business side pointing directly towards them.

"Well, _that's _not very friendly, now is it?" He scowled at the Claymore and crouched in front of the lethal device, quickly disarming it and snipping the wire. He stood up smoothly and nodded, taking point from Marcus. If there was one trap, there was bound to be more further along. He scanned the ground in front of him, checking for the tell-tale shimmer of a trip wire. The bodies were piled along the side of the tunnel. There must have been well over a hundred, all in various states of decomposition. The smell was sickening and the air thick with angry bluebottles buzzing around the men's heads as they were disturbed by the men's passing.

As they pushed on into the gloom of the tunnel, the hairs on the back of Colby's neck started to stand on end. He glanced behind him, expecting to see the flash of torches at any second as their ingress was discovered. The tunnel behind them was dark, and Colby turned back, catching up with the others. The spectre of betrayal hung over every move they made, and despite his plan back at the cowshed, Marcus had been right. There was plenty that _could _go wrong at any time. And right now they were in a very vulnerable position. Once they were out of the confines of the tunnel and into the compound, they had room to fight. In this cramped, stinking sewer surrounded by rotting corpses and trip wires, they were sitting ducks…

Andy held up a fist and the men stopped. He turned and beckoned to Colby, who squeezed past the other two men to make his way to the front. Andy pointed up. Above them was the underside of a drain cover, the rusting ladder leading up to it paper thin after years of corrosion. The weight of a man would turn the rusted rungs into crumbling dust. The drain cover was approximately five feet above their heads. It would mean standing on the shoulders of one another to reach the cover and push it back. Colby pushed his FMP90 back over his shoulder and braced his legs. He formed a stirrup with his hand and Andy swung his right foot into the support. Bracing himself against Colby's shoulder, he jumped up, propelled towards the cover by Colby lifting his weight at the same time. Andy's hands touched the underside of the drain cover.

As he did, he could hear the rapid chatter of men's voices directly above. He instantly froze, hissing twice down at Colby. Colby responded by freezing as well, his powerful arms straining as he held Andy in position and supported his weight. Andy steadied himself by resting his fingertips on the rim of the drain cover, ready to drop at a moment's notice. Only two inches of cast iron separated the team from their enemies. A whisper could be amplified to a shout in the echoing recesses of the tunnel. The men formed a motionless, silent tableau underneath the drain cover, invisible to their targets but mere inches below them.

The sharp scrape of metal ricocheted through the sewer and the cover was dragged back. "Shit!" Andy swore silently and jumped down, instantly tucking and rolling to his left away from the gaping hole where the drain cover once lay. Colby ducked to his right, out of the direct line of sight of anyone who may look into the hole. The four men pressed their backs against the slimy, curved wall of the sewer, their fingers resting on the triggers of their guns, the safety catches flicked to the 'off' position. Both Colby and Andy rested their hands loosely on their battle knifes that nestled against their thighs…

The harsh, guttural chatter of the men filled the tunnel from above, one of them laughing brutally. Colby glanced across towards Andy to make sure he was on his feet and out of sight. Andy caught his eye and nodded. He pointed up and held up two fingers. Colby nodded in response, acutely aware that they were a split second away from discovery. Why had the men chosen that moment to check the drain? _Why the fuck now?_

His silent question was quickly answered. A heavy sack fell past him and thudded sickeningly to the floor of the tunnel. Another body to join the lost souls that lined the sewer's walls…

Another sack followed, and then a third. Colby knew that any second now, there was a good chance that the men above him would be climbing down to throw the bodies further into the tunnel. The harsh metallic scrape of an aluminium ladder being lowered down made them pull further back into the gloom of the sewer.

The four men held their breath, ready, waiting…

_**TBC….**_


	12. Satellite Angels

Disclaimer

(And apology from the author…)

Firstly, the apology. Sorry for the delay in this chapter folks, personal problems and a massive work schedule had to take priority.

Now the disclaimer. Yada, yada, don't own anything to do with Numb3rs or any of the major characters herein. Do own everything British, including Diane 'multi-tasker' Armstrong, Micky 'Comms-boy' Cox and various assorted Brit-raff responsible for blowing shit up.

Usual warning for violence, strong language and technical jargon that'll make your brain bleed. The bit about Hedy Lamarr is absolutely true, though…

Roll credits and the wonky Numb3rs board…

* * *

"Guv, incoming." Micky Cox swung himself around in the chair and ripped off the coms headset. He held it out and Diane took it from his hands…

"Firecracker. Go ahead."

The voice that responded was a harsh whisper. "_Firecracker, this is alpha team. Last call. We're visiting the folks now. Expect to get a warm reception, but only staying for tea and biscuits. Heading to zero three three seven afterwards. Any chance of a welcoming committee?"_

"All the chance in the world, away team. Auntie'll be waiting for you."

_"Not Uncle?"_

"Negative. We think it would be better if Auntie picked you up on this one."

_"Copy that."_

"Estimated time?"

_"Zero two hundred hours. God willing."_

"God's got nothing to do with this, Marcus. He doesn't fly a contra-rotating death banana, mate. Auntie does. Will maintain radio comms link. Irish rules, boys. Good luck, lads. Firecracker out."

Diane handed the headset back to Micky and leaned back against the table. She glanced at her watch and frowned. "It's about twenty three hundred over there. That was a last call, which means they're going to be on radio silence from now on. Keep listening in, Micky. If they run into problems, we need to be ready to move immediately. Check with Mark. Make sure bravo team is standing by."

"Yes, Guv."

She ran a hand across her face, shielding her eyes for a few seconds. Micky frowned deeply. He'd never seen Diane look so concerned. He leaned forward in his seat, his eyes locked on the woman. "Guv? You okay?"

"What?" Diane moved her hand away quickly and sniffed. "Yeah…yeah, fine, Micky. Fine. Just bloody peachy, mate." She stood up. "We've got a bird over Kosovo, haven't we?"

"Officially? No. _Unofficially?_ Of course we bloody have."

"Contact Langley. I want that satellite slap-bang over their position. Call in whatever favours we need to, Mick. I want eyes on that compound, even if we have to ask bloody NASA to send up a couple of astronauts to kick the damn thing a couple of degrees. But before you do that, call Rory at Joint Helicopter Command. That bugger owes me a major favour after Helmund. See if he can rustle up a banana for us. Priority one is to get a helo at the pick up co-ordinates. We've got three hours. Then get that bird sorted out."

"On it, Guv." Micky turned back to the bank of computers and laptops in front of him and began tapping urgently at the keys.

"Oh, and Micky?" Micky paused and turned again, a questioning look on his face. He noticed instantly that Diane's demeanour had changed. The momentary flash of anxiety that he knew full well was for Colby's safety was gone. Diane Armstrong was now all business. She gave Micky a small, cold smile. "Give the Colonel a bell. Wake the bugger up if you have to. He owes me a favour. Time to call it in. Get him to put the regiment on standby, okay? We might need more than just bravo team if things get interesting." Micky nodded and smiled nastily. He knew that the call to the Colonel would set in motion a chain of events that would make sure that, even if they did have another high level traitor in their mists, Colby and the lads at least had major back up. It didn't matter to them whether or not they were _supposed _to be in Kosovo or Serbia. It didn't matter a damn to them if it would end up causing an international incident. The SAS were used to controversy. And that's what their enemies could never get their heads around. The SAS were so damn good because they didn't give a rat's arse about what any one else thought. They were prepared to do whatever it took to get the job done. Right now, one of their teams could potentially be in serious trouble. Diane's gut instinct was telling her that something wasn't sitting right about this whole thing. But without evidence, she couldn't call an abort. But she was also not prepared to take risks with the team's safety. The regiment was just a _little _bit funny about that sort of thing. Besides, it was about time the lads had a bit of a jaunt out…

From the doorway, David watched the two British ex soldiers. The efficiency with which they operated was like watching a well-oiled machine. He knew that they were working in perfect tandem with their team thousands of miles away and across several time zones. Neither of them had slept for days. Yet they still managed to think and act with a mathematical precision that Charlie would have appreciated. They still managed to co-ordinate an entire operation from thousands of miles away and with just the two of them operating a bank of computers and communications links. This is what made Armstrong so good at her job. The woman's ability to multi-task was uncanny... David found a new level of respect for the Brits, as well as realising just how much influence Diane Armstrong had. But he also knew that it was particularly difficult for Diane to deal with. Not only had this raised some ugly demons she thought had been finally put to rest months earlier. But she also knew that Colby was in a highly volatile and dangerous situation. All that mattered now was the success of Colby's safe extraction from whatever hellhole he was in right now…

"What's Irish rules?" David's voice was soft and questioning.

"David. Sorry mate, didn't see you there." Diane glanced up apologetically and gave the FBI agent a small smile. "Calling in a few favours." She shrugged. "Ya know. As one does. And Irish rules is a comms system we developed a few years back that keeps radio silence but still lets a team know of possible trouble." Diane paused. For a second, David could see how tired she really was. And how worried. She locked eyes with the FBI man and smiled sadly. "I'm doing everything I can, David. I promise you. Everything."

David nodded and returned the smile. "Hey, I know you are. You okay? You look like hell, Diane."

"And thank you _so _much for that vote of confidence, Sinclair. Just what a stressed out woman who's short on sleep and ideas wants to hear." She laughed quietly and sighed. "Yeah, I know I do, mate. Been a long few days. And we've probably got a lot more before this is all over." She sighed again and shrugged. "Goes with the job. You got something?"

David didn't fail to notice how Diane effortlessly and so obviously changed the course of the conversation. The Brits were not known for their willingness to express their emotions openly. He had always thought that Colby was bad enough for keeping his real emotions bottled up. But this lot? You never knew _what _the hell they were thinking. And it wasn't always easy to understand their sardonic and bone-dry sense of humour, either. But he couldn't help himself liking these crazy assed Brits… "We've been doing some digging into those email attachments. Seems that our so-called terrorists have a very unique agenda, Diane."

"Call me Dee. And what do you mean by _so-called_ terrorists?"

David looked surprised. He had known the woman for over a year now, and this was the first time she had told him to call her Dee. He knew that only her friends and people she respected got to call her that…He smiled. "Um, okay, Dee. I don't think we're dealing with your usual disenfranchised radical group of media clichés here."

"What makes you say that?"

"Well, Charlie's been taking a look at the group dynamics from the data he's got from the emails. He's run it through some kinda matrix algorithm or something, and the results, to quote him, don't add up. And I've never heard him say that something doesn't add up before. I mean, he's a damn mathematician, for God's sake."

"I'm sorry, I don't follow, David…"

David moved to a monitor and pressed a couple of buttons. On the plasma screen behind him, the emails cascaded open and he zoomed in on one in particular. He moved to the plasma screen and faced Diane. Micky had glanced up and was also watching the screen. "The emails was all about a family wedding, mentioning guests, relatives, the whole thing, right?"

"Right. A complete hall of mirrors, we know that. It's code for the various cell members. The family in Nebraska is a reference to the team at the training camp."

"That's the problem, Dee. These supposed terrorists? The one's Colby's gone in to identify? According to Charlie's results, they shouldn't exist. I can't explain the math to you, but taking into account the whole thing, Dee, I think he's right. Those terrorists_ don't exist._ We've been fed a plateful of crap. Charlie's math says that this whole set-up is counter-intuitive to a normal social network." David paused. "I think I got that right."

"You're going to have to give me something more than just a gut feeling and a few algorithms, David. And yes, I know how good Charlie is, but I can't change the direction of an entire military operation without due cause."

"You tellin' me you're buying the whole thing? Seriously? Because I _know _you've got doubts, Dee. We know for a _fact _that there's someone high up in the security services leaking information."

"I'm telling you that I need _evidence_, David, no matter what my guts might be telling me."

"I have evidence. Well, evidence that confirms our suspicions. Remember what first put you onto those emails?"

"Yeah. They appeared to be too big. That's why we knew there was a hidden layer that they'd stegged into the email."

"I'm sorry, stegged?"

"Steganography. The art of concealing a message within a message."

"Oh, right, okay. Anyway, we decided to take another look at the properties. In particular the pathways that the emails took via various servers. The long and short of it, Dee, is that the emails are fakes. Amita backtracked them to a server in Virginia, and..."

"We were told they sourced from LA!" Micky had spun around in his chair and faced David. "Why the bloody hell do you think I flew all the way out here? When I looked at them, the server route led to an ISP in the Valley. And with all due respect to Charlie, mate, and I know how damn good he is, but we had some of the top crypto experts working on them from the get go…"

"If David says Charlie's math is right, it's right, Micky." Diane started to pace thoughtfully, frowning to herself. "But by the same token David, Micky has a point. How come our cryptos missed it?"

"I'm no computer expert, you'd have to talk direct to Amita and Charlie about that, Dee. But if the emails are suspect, as I think we can safely say that they are now, it means that the whole operation, _Colby's _operation has been organised on the back of a massive lie. And that every other piece of evidence we have about the training camp, the American nationals over there, the whole damn thing is bullshit."

"That's bollocks." Micky frowned. "We've got intel showing the buggers at the camp. Eye witness reports of four Americans…"

"Eye witness reports from whom, Micky?" Diane frowned deeply. "And pictures can be faked. No, David's right. We know that we have a problem. And that means that all bets are off here. How do we know that we can trust that intel?"

"It came from Langley, Guv."

"Which means absolutely bugger all as far as I'm concerned. The Farm exists to breed bloody counter espionage for who the hell knows who with agendas we ain't privvy to, old son." Diane shook her head. "No, I agree with David. I think we're looking at, what was it you said, a plateful of crap?"

David nodded. "Yeah. Think about it, Dee. Go back to the beginning. The attack on the armoury."

"And?"

"Well, you know how we were wondering what the hell they were doin' selling a load of those stolen guns to a couple of street gangs with a grudge? We all thought then that it was a side-track, a diversion, a real curve-ball, if we're honest, right?"

"Agreed. But again with the and, though, David…"

"What if we were on the money first time without even realising it? What if the attack on the armoury _was_ a diversion? Well, the first diversion, anyway. Geeing up the gang-bangers to start shooting the hell out of each other just sent us off in a completely different direction a second time. The emails that your people just _happened _to pick up? The whole family wedding thing? With relatively easily to find so-called hidden files that you _just happened _to stumble on? Detailed plans and incriminating evidence pointing us in a whole 'nother direction entirely? It's smoke and mirrors. They weren't hoping that we'd miss those files hidden on the emails, Dee, they were _counting_ on us finding the damn things!" He gestured towards her. "C'mon Dee, you've spent your _whole life _dealing with this kinda thing. Why the hell have we got several seemingly connected but complete dead-end enquiries all leading us a merry goddamn dance all over the place, we've got one of our best people shipped out to the middle of god knows where, you're callin' in favours and stretching your resources to the limits, and it's the same with us. We're being pulled in several directions at once. We're being fuckin' _played _here, Diane. What I wanna know is by whom and _why_?"

"Bloody hell Guv, they've started thinking like we do!" Micky grinned. "A triple bluff. Send us off chasing our tails in different directions and all the while…"

"…all the while, they're planning something far bigger as well as royally screwing us over. Fuckers!" Diane scowled angrily. "Micky, reprioritise. Try and contact alpha team. Tell them to _abort_ right now. Right _now, _Micky! They're walking straight into a fuckin' set-up! I want Bridgewater on the line, and that contra rotating death banana better be on it's fuckin' way by the time I put the damn phone down, understood?"

"On it, Guv." Micky spun back and refocused on the computers.

Diane stood up straight and walked over to David. She nodded over his shoulder and beckoned as she caught Don's eye. He looked up quizzically and nodded, moving quickly through the office to the privacy of the war room. He moved past David and into the room. "Close the door, David." Diane patted David on the shoulder and moved back to the monitor, studying the documents on the plasma screen closely.

"Problem?" Don picked up on the tension in the room immediately.

"You could say that." Diane turned and looked directly at him. "David and I have been having a _little chat_ about this whole nasty affair. Seems we've been, to use one of Micky's phrases, chasing our tails, Don. It seems that we all agree somebody's got us running around in rings, and right now, four of our best people are walking slap-bang into the middle of a trap. We've been led by the nose from the get-go, my friend. We need to go back right to the beginning. Forget all the gang-banger crap, let Gary Walker's gang unit and the ATF deal with that one. We need to focus our attention on that armoury."

"What about Colby?" Don couldn't help worrying about his team member above everything else. He knew that not only was Colby in terrible danger, but someone, somewhere was trying everything they could to send them off in completely the wrong direction…

Diane stopped and turned, her face completely neutral. Don knew full well that was just a mask – a way of hiding her true feelings… When she answered, her voice was quiet but, as good as the mask was, she couldn't cover up the concern in her words, nor the hard, almost chilling determination either. "We _will _get him out. That is non-negotiable, Don. I don't give a damn what I have to do and whose fuckin' toes I have to step on to do it."

Don nodded and stood up. "David, I want everything we have on the armoury attack. I also want everything we have on our dead guy, what was his name?"

"Michael Joseph King."

"Yeah, and I want a warrant for O'Neils. I don't care what for, David, but I want that warrant. Go into their IRS records, check with DMV on vehicle movements, explosives in transit licences, building plans for their offices, employee lists, phonecalls and credit cards, the whole nine yards. I wanna know _everything_ about them."

"You think O'Neils is the link?" David jotted down a quick note, one eye on his boss, the other on the paper.

"I think it's the best place to start, don't you? Call Nikki, get her outta bed and in here. I want all hands on this."

"It may be best to keep our suspicions to ourselves for now, gentlemen. The less people who know that we've switched gears, the better, don't you think?" Diane's voice was quiet and cold.

David smiled slowly and nodded at his boss. "I keep forgetting we have to keep thinkin' on two different levels here. She's right, Don. I know it don't sit good, but…"

"No, I agree too. Until we know Colby's safe, we say nothing to anyone else. But Nikki's part of my team, Dee. I want her in on this."

"You trust her?"

"I do."

Then that's good enough for me." Diane nodded.

Meantime, Colby's walking blind into a trap. I want my boy back in LA, Dee. In _one piece. _Can I leave that with you guys?" Don's voice had an almost fatherly tone. Diane smiled quietly. She realised that Don cared for his team every bit as much as she did for hers. And that they also both cared deeply about Colby in their own ways…

"That's a given, Don."

"We ain't goin' anywhere, mate, until he's out safe." Micky answered but kept his eyes locked onto his computer screen. "Ears like a bat me. I'm a comms boy, Guv. You keep forgetting that."

"Stop your earwigging Cox, or so help me God I'll smack you purple. You got through to Granger yet?"

"No Guv. Comms are silent. No response."

"Triple click them."

"Copy that, Guv."

"Triple click rotate every five seconds." Diane glanced over at the confused-looking Americans. "If they can't talk, they'll pick up the clicks. Their comms are tied into ours by a rotating frequency. You can thank Hedy Lamarr for that one."

"Excuse me?" David looked utterly confused.

"Hedy Lamarr? The actress? She was also an inventor. She helped to develop rotating frequency technology in the Second World War. It was actually called frequency hopping. They used it to make radio-controlled torpedoes harder to detect. We've just updated it a bit. It means we can maintain radio comms with the team on the ground, but the rotating frequency makes it almost impossible to detect by enemy sniffers. As long as the team on the ground rotate their receiving frequency at the same rate, we have constant comms. The triple click is a silent warning we developed during the Irish problem. You could warn an undercover team of a possible burn without breaking radio silence."

Don looked momentarily confused. "Ya know? I did _not _know that. About Hedy Lamarr."

"All absolutely true, my friend."

David looked at Don. "Do you understand any of that?"

Don shook his head but gave his colleague a small grin. "I think it means they're on it, David." He stood up. "C'mon. We've got work to do, buddy."

David nodded and stood up. He paused, looking puzzled.

"Something bothering you, Sinclair?" Diane studied the FBI agent for a moment.

David looked up and nodded. "Yeah. Just one small question. What in the hell _is_ a contra rotating death banana?"

Diane laughed briefly. "A Chinook helicopter. The CH-47D, to be precise. You know the ones with blades either end? Big fuckers? Contra rotating because of the contra rotating blades. Banana because of the shape of the body."

"And the death bit?"

"Oh, that's because of their alarming habit of dropping out of the sky for no apparent reason whatsoever other than that they can." Micky shrugged. "Always a gamble goin' for a ride in one of those buggers."

"He's right, you know. It's kinda like how bumblebees technically shouldn't be able to fly. Chinooks have a tendency to prove that the laws of gravity work rather effectively on large, heavy, inert lumps of metal." Diane raised an eyebrow and turned to a computer, focusing on co-ordinating a rescue mission for a team thousands of miles away and a world away from safety.

David scowled. Now she was telling him that they were sending in a helicopter that tended to crash a lot to rescue his best friend. He hoped desperately that it was this enigmatic and practically unintelligible English sense of humour that he still sometimes just didn't get. Or if she was serious. He decided to go with the gallows humour that he knew was an intimate part of these ex-soldier's way of life. It was their coping mechanism. It kept their emotions in check and allowed them to keep doing their job, even under the most extreme conditions. But it still didn't exactly make him feel better about his best friend's chances of survival. "Great." He frowned at the woman. "Yeah, that's…yeah, real reassurin', Dee…"

333333333

Colby held his breath. Just a few feet above him were two guards ready to scream an alarm as soon as they discovered the men below them. The big American strained to hear the voices above him, listening intently as they argued. A booted foot appeared on the rung of the ladder and the four men coiled back against the walls of the sewer like springs, ready to add to the body count that surrounded them. A second boot stepped to a lower rung and Colby's fingers curled around the handle of his battle knife as he slid it slowly and silently out of its sheath…

Suddenly, the boots stopped and retracted. A heated argument had developed between the two men, and in the distance a third voice echoed across the compound, telling them to keep the noise down. The men grumbled and the ladder withdrew back up the hole, the scraping of metal on metal sending screaming echoes bouncing around the sewer wall.

In the midst of the echoes, Colby's earpiece clicked three times. Five seconds later, the three clicks repeated. He shot a look towards Andy, frowning in the half-light reflected into the shaft. Andy nodded and held up three fingers. He pulled his hand across his throat like a knife - the signal to abort had been given. Colby nodded and held up a fist – hold position until the coast was clear to move. He turned around and looked at Marcus and Danny in the gloom. They had all heard the three clicks. They all knew they'd been told to abort…

The sewer echoed once again as the lid of the manhole cover scrapped back into position. The tunnel was plunged once again into darkness and the men immediately flipped down their night vision goggles. Colby gave the signal to retreat back and they backed up fifty yards from the cover that led into the compound. Andy ducked silently under the cover and joined them.

Colby waited until they were gathered around him. He whispered quietly. "We've been told to abort, guys."

"We do that, they carry on doing this, Col." Marcus gestured to the decomposing bodies that surrounded them.

"I know."

"Col, listen. They don't know our exact position. They don't even know that we've received the abort. We could be in and out in seven minutes, Col. We could stop these bastards. Just seven minutes, bud. That's all." Danny's voice was a harsh whisper.

"Yer letting your emotions cloud your judgement, Dan."

"Col, c'mon,man! Don't give me that crap! You tellin' me you're happy about walking away when we're this close?"

"Dan, what in the _hell _kinda fuckin' question is that?" Colby glared furiously at the Englishman. "Of course I'm not happy! But if we go in we're disobeying a direct order here, guys."

"Your point?"

Colby chewed at his bottom lip. He couldn't just walk away from this. He knew that. A mission like this – you expected that there was a good chance you weren't going to come out again. To walk away now might mean they'd get away without being seen, but he knew that tomorrow morning, there was also a good chance that another innocent villager would end up tied to a post as a live mannequin for some sadistic son of a bitch to use as target practice. No. He _couldn't _walk away. They hadn't responded to the abort. As far as Dee knew, they were operational already. He hated lying to her. But he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he let this blatant, cold-blooded murder carry on. He looked straight at Danny. "We go in. Now. As planned. Move."

The four men moved silently back to the manhole cover. Colby lifted Andy back up to the cover. Slowly, carefully, Andy lifted the cover and scanned the compound. "Clear." He shoved the cover to one side and swiftly, fluidly exited, staying low and covering the manhole as the other two Englishmen popped out like gofers. Danny was the third out and as soon as he was flat on his belly next to the manhole, Andy and Marcus darted off into the shadows towards the oil tanker. Danny reached into the hole and grabbed Colby's hand. Bracing his feet, he pulled hard and Colby heaved himself next to his partner. They slid the cover back and, making one last check, they darted to the side of the main building, nothing marking their passing. The operation was on…

3333333

"We've got eyes, Guv. Bird's in place. Image of the compound should be coming in…now…"

A grainy black and white image flickered onto the screen. Micky switched to infa-red. "We've got four heat signatures. Two groups of two."

"That's our boys." Diane moved closer, her eyes never leaving the screen. "EPPES! GET IN HERE NOW!" She pointed at two figures moving towards the north of the compound. "What's that feature, Micky?" She registered the sound of feet behind her, but still kept focusing on the screen. "We've got a visual on our team." The offhand comment brought Don and David up to speed in an instant.

Micky tried to focus in on the area Diane indicated. "Looks like some sort of storage tanker, Guv." He watched as two human-shaped black blobs crouched down by the tanker.

David moved closer. "Where's Col?"

"We've got two more heat signatures by the north building. My guess is they're setting up a diversion and Col's going after the intel."

"So they didn't get the warning?" David turned, frowning angrily.

Diane's face was unreadable. "Probably." She turned and looked at David. "But when have you ever know a direct order stop Colby from doing his job?"

"Guv, we've got hostiles." Micky pointed at two new figures that moved across the image.

"Shit! They're heading straight for them!" Don turned and faced Diane, his expression panicked. "Tell me there's some way you can warn them!"

"We can't break radio silence! Fuck!" Diane ran a frantic hand over her face. "Hang on…Micky, you're sure that the triple clicks got through?"

"Absolutely, Guv."

"Well, if the triple clicks got through, how about if we use old fashioned Morse?"

"On it!" Micky tapped frantically at the keys, sending an urgent message warning the men on the ground of the impending danger moving towards them. "Sending again." As his fingers tapped out the warning a second time, they saw the figures by the tanker split up and move in a pincer movement around behind the hostiles. For an instant, four black blobs merged to become two. They could then see two prone figures being dragged into the scrubland behind the tanker. The team on the ground had satellite angels watching over them…

3333333

Andy laid the lifeless body of one of the guards in the thick bushes that surrounded the oil tanker and offered up a silent prayer of thanks for his unseen protectors thousands of miles away. The Morse code warning had come in the nick of time. He ducked back towards the tanker and started working on the brittle plastic, letting the torch cut through the old black polymer like a knife through butter. The greasy, oily smell of diesel filled the air and he shifted position, letting the oil spill on the dirt and start flowing languidly towards the cookhouse. Three five-foot propane gas cylinders stood bathed in shadows. As Andy glanced towards them he could see Marcus setting two small charges on the cylinders – one to blow the valves and a second to ignite the gas. The first charge would be extinguished by the blast of propane sucking the oxygen out of the air, but the second would send the whole lot sky high. And hopefully most of the compound with them… Marcus worked quickly. The momentary interruption of the two guards had been a surreal episode of a warning from nowhere, followed by a silent and deadly encounter. The Morse code warning in his earpiece told him that Diane had pulled in some serious favours and had a satellite right above them…

Colby nodded to Danny and they moved into the quiet building. In the distance, a radio tuned to some crackling music station covered any sound they may have made. The two men made their way to a room in the building and ducked in. Expertly, they rifled through the room, taking anything and everything that might give them a clue as to the co-conspirators behind this terrorist training camp. Who might be funding it, contacts, potential targets, anything. It didn't matter any more if they left any sign of their passing – in a few short minutes, the entire place would be an inferno…

Colby glanced at his watch and indicated to Danny. Time to go…

As they worked their way out of the building, both men set time delay mines at strategic points. They set the timers for six minutes. Colby wanted it to be seen from space. With a satellite watching every move they made, that was a wish that had come true…

The two men ducked back outside. The heavy stench of diesel met them as they made their way to the manhole cover once again, sliding the lid back and dropping down into the putrid sewer. A minute later, Marcus and Andy dropped down. Andy paused briefly and gave Colby a thumb's up sign. "Let's get outta here, guys. It's about to get _real_ goddamn interesting!" The three Englishmen nodded and trotted quickly along the tunnel. The gate swung open silently and four black, silent figures slipped out. Turning, Colby pulled one last grenade out of a pocket and pulled the pin. He turned, holding the clip down firmly and smiled nastily. "Light it up, Andy."

Andy grinned broadly and pulled out a remote. Although they'd put timers on the delay mines, the C4 charges on the gas cylinders were radio-controlled. Andy believed in a belt and braces approach to demolitions… Pulling a short aerial up with his teeth, he pressed a small button. At the same second, Colby tossed the grenade into the sewer.

"EVAC!"

The four men sprinted away. Seconds later, a huge explosion ripped through the night. Tiles crashed from roofs, dogs barked frantically as secondary blasts tore the compound and the stinking sewer to pieces…

3333333

"WHOA!" Don flinched as the satellite picture flared and whited out for a few seconds. When the picture returned, a two-tone scene of utter devastation could be seen. Stumbling black figures fell out of blazing buildings as more explosions tore apart the camp.

Watching the image impassively, Diane smiled quietly to herself. "Adda boy, Colby…"

333333

"Go, go, GO!" Colby's voice was filled with urgency. The Brits didn't need telling twice. They sprinted for the forest path, using the utter chaos that filled the village as cover. Nobody noticed four men dressed in black as they flitted through the shadows. They were too busy focusing on the inferno that was the hated camp.

As the four men reached the forest edge, they turned and looked one last time at their supposed zero-contact mission. Danny grinned broadly. "Guess they won't be using that as a training camp any time soon, Col."

"Yeah. And those villagers don't have to worry about going out after dark any more. Good job boys. Now. Waddya say we get the _fuck _outta here?"

The men nodded and melted into the forest…

333333

Diane watched the unfolding chaos on the satellite image. "Give Rory the go. Get that fuckin' banana to the pick up zone right now. As soon as alpha team makes contact, I want to know, Mick. The _second _they make contact!"

"Copy that Guv. Oh! Man, how much silly putty did they use on that place?" He grinned as another blast caused the satellite image to flare again.

"That was the armoury going up. Now the fuckers know how it feels." Diane's voice was savage. "Get our people out of there, Micky. Mobilise bravo team. Let alpha team know they've got support coming in from the north."

Diane turned away from the screen and looked at Don and David. "Not exactly part of the plan, but ya know…" She shrugged. "Sometimes you gotta improvise, right?"

Don looked with utter disbelief at the devastation on the screen. He couldn't believe that the easy-going, laid back FBI agent he knew and considered one of his closest friends could cause such complete and total chaos…

_**TBC…**_


	13. Family Reunion

Disclaimer

HA! You weren't expecting the next chapter this soon, were you? Well, you're all lovely people and I thought I owed you a little extra treat sooo…

I do not own anything to do with Numb3rs. I neither write, work or have any connection with or for the show, apart from being a great admirer of the numb3ry goodness that is…um…Numb3rs. Anyhoo, I DO own the story, the various assorted Brits involved in this debacle, and I'll have speaks with anyone who says otherwise.

Usual warning for bad language (actually, quite a lot of bad language this time…), random use of parentheses to up the tension, violence and disturbing technical passages that may have you weeping gently into your keyboards.

Roll credits and wonky Numb3rs board…

* * *

Brambles slashed and tore at their clothes as the black ops team pushed their way through the forest. Behind them, repeated explosions rocked the night as Colby's and Danny's mines detonated. They didn't worry about hanging around to see how much damage they caused – the men were certain that come morning, nothing except smouldering ruins, craters and charred bodies would be all that remained of the terrorist training camp.

The run back to the concealed Land Rover took the men less than fifteen minutes. The entire operation had been completed in the same time that most people usually take for lunch. They reached the Land Rover and hauled the covering brush off – Andy had done a good job of concealing the vehicle from prying eyes. As they paused, Colby glanced upwards towards the heavens, knowing that high above him, a satellite had seen almost everything. He smiled quietly to himself, thankful for Diane's influence in the NSA and for her bloody-minded determination to watch his back, even from thousands of miles away. If she hadn't decided to use old-fashioned Morse code to warn the men of the proximity of the two guards, they'd be either dead or tied to chairs with electrodes attached to delicate parts of their bodies by now…

"Rock 'n' roll, Guv." Danny slammed the back door of the Land Rover shut and leaned briefly against the door. "Andy's checked for trackers, we're all clear. We've got two hours and thirty one minutes to get to the pick-up."

A sharp blast close by made both men turn suddenly, their guns up and ready in one fluid motion. One of Andy's trip wires in the forest had been activated, the accompanying scream telling them that the Claymore APM had found its deadly mark. Danny glanced at Colby. "That was a little bit too close for comfort, old son."

"We better get movin' then, huh?" Colby grinned. Pumped with adrenaline, he felt elated at the success of the mission. But it was only half done – now they had to get the hell away from possible capture and certain retribution. Danny grinned back and the two men climbed quickly into the front of the cab, Danny once again taking the driving. The engine coughed and roared into life, Danny driving using night vision goggles so as to negate the use of the headlights and hide their position from their pursuers. "Ready in the back, guys?" Colby glanced back towards Marcus and Andy. The two men already had their rifles in their hands – they had also heard the boom of the Claymore indicating that pursuit had already begun. It was going to be a desperate sprint to the pick up zone…

"Preparing to repel borders, Guv!" Andy grinned and fixed a night-sight to his sniper rifle.

The Land Rover heaved and leapt over potholes and lumps in the forest floor, causing Marcus to curse Danny's driving skills again as his head hit the roof of the cab. "OW! Take it easy, you muppet! You hit a tree stump and we're royally fucked, Stirling fuckin' Moss!"

"You wanna drive, Bowen?"

"Do I buggery!"

"Then shut the fuck up and just shoot at the bad guys, there's a good northern monkey." Danny grinned to himself. He seemed never happier than when tormenting his colleagues in the most inappropriate circumstances…

"Marcus, link me to Dee." Colby reached back and held his hand out, waiting for the communications expert to hand him the satellite phone. Marcus put his rifle down on the floor of the Land Rover and quickly moved, letting Andy take up position to put down covering fire for their retreat if necessary. He pulled out the satellite phone from a pocket, punched in a code and held the phone out to Colby…

33333333

"Guv! Link up with alpha team!" Micky Cox yelled back over his shoulder towards the open door. A pounding of footsteps told him Diane was already moving. He held out the headphone as he heard the thump of her boots on the carpeted floor. In one fluid motion, Diane grabbed the headphone and slipped it on, adjusting the mike. A step behind her was Don, anxious to hear if Colby was okay…

"This is Firecracker. Go ahead, alpha team."

"_Hey baby. Want me to bring any souvenirs back from our trip?"_

Diane couldn't hide the obvious relief on her face as she heard Colby's voice. Smiling, she chuckled to herself. "Just your good self, Thunderhorse. That'll be enough for me. Are you alright?"

_"Yeah, fine. Things might get a bit interesting in a bit, though, looks like we might have company. Broke a bit of furniture while we were visiting the folks…yeah, um, look, sorry about that. There was kinda a bit of a problem with the cooking facilities and a bit of an oil spill..."_

"Yes. So we saw, sweetie!" Diane grinned briefly as Colby sent her his own private apology for disobeying the order to abort. "Everyone okay?"

"_We're all good. Heading home now."_

"Extended family are in the area, Thunderhorse. A few cousins to help with the transportation. Rendezvous at zero four two seven seven. Comms frequency twenty one point four. Rotate three degrees for link-up. And just in case we get any gatecrashers, they're bringing party poppers."

_"Look forward to seeing them. Dee?"_

"Yeah?"

Colby's voice was gentle and full of affection. _"Thanks, baby. From all of us. Thunderhorse out."_

Diane smiled quietly to herself. "Roger that." Her voice dropped for a second, echoing Colby's gentle tone. "You're welcome, love." She straightened up and the split second show of emotion was gone. "Out." She peeled the headphone from her ear and turned to Don. "Your boy's on his way home." She handed the headphone back to Micky and sat back on the edge of the desk, any emotions masked by an enigmatic expression of indifference. Behind her, Micky barked orders into the mike, letting the back up team know where to meet Colby and the lads. He glanced up at the satellite monitor. The compound could still be seen, well, what was _left _of the compound, anyway.

Even with the disadvantage of night-time viewing and a grainy resolution, Don could see that the camp had been utterly devastated. Frantic black, human-shaped blobs, looking like oversized ants scuttled around the compound, trying desperately to escape the inferno and bring the flames under control. Another large explosion flared on the image silently as the last remaining gas cylinder finally erupted into a fountain of superheated gas, spewing flames into the air. Several figures close to the blast were obliterated in an instant, vaporised by the intense blast. Don felt sick. This was no YouTube video. This wasn't some CGI film. This was real, like a macabre, silent, black and white horror film. He felt like some kind of sick voyeur, watching men die in the most horrible of ways – being burned alive. It shocked him as to how unpleasant it felt to watch. Diane glanced at him and briefly frowned.

"Something wrong, Don?"

"No. Just…I dunno. Kinda feelin' a little uncomfortable watchin' this."

"Those men murder children, Don. Remember that." Diane's voice was cold.

"Satellite is moving position. We're losing eyes." Micky tapped quickly at a keyboard. "I can see if we can hop to another."

"Nah. Don't worry, Mick." Despite her icy response to Don's concern, she too was sensitive to the violent images playing out on the satellite link. It was not the kind of thing she wanted to see either, and she knew what the civilian FBI agents, who had never experienced the real horrors of the battlefield must be thinking. It was a different kind of evil. More concentrated, more heartless, more damaging to those who experienced it day after day, year after year. She knew that they had seen their own fair share of the darker side of human nature, but not usually on this scale. Instinctively, she wanted to protect them from that, just as she had sworn to do when she first joined the army. Let the image fade. They had seen everything they needed to…"Just make sure we have open comms with alpha and bravo teams. I want to be able to make sure we've still got Colby's back, okay?"

"Not a problem, Guv." Diane patted her friend affectionately on the shoulder, her fingers flexing briefly in silent thanks to the man. Micky glanced up and nodded. "Don't worry, Dee. We'll get him out."

"I know, Mick. I know." She patted him again and turned away to face the Americans. David smiled warmly at her, understanding a little more about just how much she cared for Colby. The mission could have been a complete and utter failure. It could have resulted in the death of his best friend. But quick thinking by the two Brits had ensured that not only had they completed their mission, even after being told to abort, but they were now on their way out with back up already arranging to meet with them.

Despite his discomfort at what he had seen on the satellite image, Don also felt a sense of deep relief. "Nice work, Dee." He rested a gentle hand on the woman's shoulder. "Why don't you get a couple hours sleep? You look like you're running on empty."

"Rendezvous with the 'copter is expected in two hours, twenty six minutes. I think I can hang on until then." Diane turned to Don. "They're not out of the woods yet. If you'll pardon the pun."

Don nodded. Until Colby and the team were safe inside that helicopter and on their way out of Serbian airspace, things could still go wrong…

333333

Colby put the satellite phone in his pocket, keeping it close so as to be ready to contact 'the cousins', as Diane had referred to them as. The satellite phone was a second line of communications in case the radio link failed. The trouble was, the more they used the satellite phone, the easier it would be for their hunters to pinpoint them. He knew that the enemy had outside help – outside help that had plenty of its own technology at its disposal. Even the phone wasn't safe. But the use of a rotating frequency short-wave radio link bounced expertly by Marcus off available transmitters was a much harder link to trace. 'The cousins' were a highly mobile team of SAS soldiers, ready to give covering fire on the egress. He turned and looked into the dark truck, the two men shrouded in shadows. His eyes had adjusted to the dim light. It seemed more 'real' than the eerie phosphorescent green of the night vision goggles. "Marcus? Set comms on twenty-one point four. Rotate three degrees for a link-up. Rendezvous at zero four two seven seven. Apparently we've got back up."

Marcus grinned broadly. "Good old Diane! That woman's a bloody _marvel_, Granger." He wagged a finger at the American. "She's a keeper, that one, mate. I hear you've been treatin' her anything less than like a bloody queen, I'll fly over to LA and personally kick your fat Yankee arse!" He winked at Colby, who laughed quietly.

"Don't worry, buddy. That's one thing you'll never have to concern yourself about doin'. Oh and, for the record? With regards to you kickin' my _fat Yankee ass_?" Colby grinned nastily. "I'd like to see you frickin' _try_, my friend!"

Marcus laughed heartily and nodded. "Would be fun. You look like you're a bit of a grappler, Granger! Right then. Twenty-one point four, rotate three. Better phone the relatives, huh?" He busied himself with the radio and started calling. "Kilo Yankee two two, this is Alpha team. Respond two one four, repeat, two one four. Over..."

Colby turned back and flinched in his seat as the thick bough of a tree loomed out of the darkness. The Land Rover missed it with millimetres to spare. "Whoa, Dan, easy bud! You maybe wanna try and find a way outta here that doesn't involve us wrappin' ourselves around the nearest tree, my friend?"

"Path's about five hundred yards up ahead. That's where we're most likely to meet a welcoming committee. Saddle up, Tex, it could get bumpy." Danny flashed a grin at Colby and swung the steering wheel sharply to the left to avoid the thick trunk of an ancient ash tree.

Colby frowned mockingly at the Englishman. "Tex?" He shook his head. "I'm from Idaho, you geographically challenged idiot!"

Danny sighed dramatically as he expertly guided the Land Rover through the worst of the forest scrub. "It's a reference to old westerns, you berk! I wasn't suggesting that you actually _came _from Tex…oh, look, never mind. I'll _explain irony_ to you later, _okay_? Path's up ahead."

Colby chuckled. The good-natured ribbing between the men would have seemed totally inappropriate to most people, given the position they were in. But once again, it helped them to control the rush of adrenaline that was naturally surging through them all. It meant that they could think clearly and make decisions based on experience, rather than blind instinct. Colby understood this perfectly. It was why he loved working with the Brits so much. And why he knew that Nikki and sometimes even David were puzzled by his own sardonic sense of humour. But here, they all understood it. For the first time in a long time, he felt completely connected to a team. It was a feeling he'd missed. His connection with Don and David was almost as strong, but he still doubted deep in his soul that his two close friends would ever trust him completely. Too much had happened for them to see him as just 'a simple G-man' ever again. He knew that Diane had managed to get a satellite link up during the raid and that they had probably seen the compound blow. That she had been stationed at the FBI's war-room. And that Don had probably also seen first-hand a black ops mission for himself. He rubbed his eyes briefly, trying to push a feeling of trepidation to the back of his mind. He knew that reunion could be more difficult than he thought it would have been…

"Bugger. We've got company, lads." Andy lifted the rifle to his shoulder and steadied himself as best he could. "Dan? Wanna try _not _hitting every fuckin' pothole in Kosovo, mate? If you _don't _mind, I'm _trying _to kill people back here!" The sharp snap of a silenced M4 ricocheted around the Land Rover as Andy took aim at the pursuing truck. Yells and the rapid chatter of automatic gunfire slamming into the back of the Landy made all of them flinch and duck.

"Marcus! Give me the radio! Covering fire with Andy!" Colby barked the order out and held a hand back towards Marcus. He felt the hard case of the radio pushed into his hand and within a split second, Marcus's own gun started spitting bullets back towards their pursuers.

Danny careered onto the relatively smooth forest path and slammed his foot down on the accelerator. The whine of a turbo squealed above the engine noise and the Land Rover shot forward into inky blackness.

A second volley of shots from the Kalashnikovs of the terrorists chattered into the body of the Land Rover, shattering one of the back windows. Instinctively, Andy and Marcus ducked their heads, protecting their faces from the shower of glass that exploded into the cab. Danny glanced furiously back in the mirror and swore loudly and passionately. "_FUCKERS_! STOP SHOOTING HOLES IN _MY LANDY!"_

Colby held on to the strap with one hand and pressed the talk button on the radio with the other. "KILO YANKEE TWO TWO, THIS IS ALPHA TEAM! KILO YANKEE TWO TWO, RESPOND, GOD DAMN IT!" He released the talk button and chewed briefly at his bottom lip for a second. He pressed talk again. "KILO YANKEE…FUCK, DANNY! AWAY FROM THE TREES, OKAY? _AWAY!" _

The scream of the engine and the continuous blast of machine gun fire made anything below a shout inaudible. "YOU WANNA FUCKIN' DRIVE, GRANGER?" Danny battled furiously with the bucking Land Rover, trying to hold the feisty truck on the path without spinning out.

The radio crackled…_"Alpha Yankee two two, copy you. State your position."_

"GETTING SHOT FULL OF FUCKIN' HOLES IN THE MIDDLE OF A FUCKIN' WOOD! WILL BE HITTING ROUTE THIRTY SEVEN HEADING EAST IN APPROXIMATELY FOUR MINUTES. LOCATION, ZERO THREE, THREE, ONE, THREE. I REPEAT, ZERO THREE, THREE, ONE, THREE!"

"_Copy that, Alpha Yankee. We'll be with you in fifteen minutes."_

Colby rolled his eyes and snarled into the radio. "Yeah…ya couldn't make that a bit _sooner_, could ya guys?" A fresh chatter of gunfire made him flinch and duck again.

_"Alright, I promise I'll take the handbrake off, Colby, how's that? See you in ten. Out."_

Colby grinned briefly. "Copy that. Out." He dropped the radio into his lap and picked up his FMP90. As he went to turn in his seat, another burst of gunfire howled through the cab like angry bees. Colby threw himself to one side out of the path of the bullets, shielding his head with one arm. But as he instantly sat back up, he heard a muffled cry from Danny. He shot a look towards the Englishman and a knot of panic gripped his stomach. Danny had a pained expression on his face and his fingers gripped the steering wheel of the Land Rover tightly. A wet patch around a hole in his jacket indicated a bullet's path straight through the man's chest…"SHIT!" Colby immediately grabbed at the wheel, trying to take control from the wounded Englishman.

Danny slumped back in the driver's seat, breathing heavily and trying desperately to stay conscious…

Colby ripped the night vision goggles from Danny's face and with one hand, put them over his own eyes. At least he could see the path ahead of him now. His hands guided the careering Land Rover back onto firm ground. Without taking his eyes from the path ahead, he shouted back over his shoulder. "MARCUS! DANNY'S HIT! GET HIM THE FUCK OUTTA THIS SEAT SO I CAN DRIVE THIS DAMN TRUCK!"

Marcus responded instantly, dropping his gun and grabbing Danny's shoulders in one fluid move. Unceremoniously, he dragged his friend back over the seat and into the rear of the cab, ignoring Danny's yelp of pain. He laid him down on the floor and immediately started to work on the wound, slapping a battle dressing over the bleeding hole. The bullet had gone straight through Danny's back and out through his chest. Andy's M4 chattered again, spewing bullets towards the pursuing truck…

Colby finally managed to shift his position into the driver's seat. He stamped on the accelerator and the big truck spewed gravel and dirt from the spinning tyres. The Land Rover lurched forward, the turbo boost kicking in like a punch in the back. Putting every expert driving skill to good use, he increased the gap between the back of the Land Rover and the slower Toyota that followed them…He yelled back to Andy. "ANDY, FOR FUCK'S SAKE! GET _RID _OF THOSE SONS OF BITCHES!"

Andy reached for his ammo belt and pulled off a grenade. Yanking the pin out, he tossed it out of the back of the truck, timing it perfectly. "GRENADE!" Colby stamped again on the gas, trying to put as much distance as possible between them and the explosion. The grenade blew just as the front axle of the Toyota passed over it, the blast lifting the tail end of the truck into the air and burying the nose of the bonnet into the dirt. The truck somersaulted end over end and exploded into a ball of flames, tumbling wildly and spewing shards of red hot metal scything into the surrounding forest. The blast was accompanied by the screams of the occupants as they died…

The three men all flinched as the grenade exploded. They had still been close enough to feel the shockwave hit. The Land Rover lurched slightly to the left, but Colby quickly and expertly corrected the slide. Ahead of him, he could see a line of tarmac cutting across his vanishing point on the path. They'd hit the main road…

The Land Rover slued to the left and a different sound filled the cab – the rumble of tyres on a metal road surface. The asphalt made a strangely reassuring hiss as the tyres made contact – utterly different from the cacophony of noise that had filled the cab just seconds earlier.

Colby breathed a sigh of relief, but carried on running without lights. He didn't want to attract attention until they were clear of the village. Glancing back in the mirror, he saw Andy had now joined Marcus in working on Danny. He frowned with deep concern. "He okay?"

A croaking, weak voice greeted him. "It's not a truck, you Yankee philistine. It's a _Land Rover_!" Danny coughed and was immediately shushed by Marcus, who cradled the wounded man's head gently in his hand.

"Through and through." Marcus looked up and Colby saw a mixture of both relief and concern in Marcus's eyes. Marcus nodded, knowing Colby was watching him intently behind the mask of the night vision goggles. "Yeah. He'll be alright." His tone was convicted and filled with reassurance for the anxious American. He knew that Danny and Colby went a long way back...He shifted his attention back to Danny and comforted him in the way only a soldier would. With deep concern masked by a telling off for 'not getting out of the way' of a bullet… "You soft southern pansy, one little bullet and yer gurglin' like my baby niece! Shush up, Danny. C'mon mate, lie still like a good person." He supported Danny as Andy took over. The demolitions expert was also well experienced in treating bullet and shrapnel wounds. It was part of the job. He pulled out a morphine hypodermic and, pulling the needle cap off with his teeth, unceremoniously jabbed the point of the needle into Danny's skin, close to the bullet wound.

Danny yelped again and glowered at Andy. "Fuckin' Florence Nightingale you are, ain't ya?" His harsh, accusatory tone was a desperate attempt to mask the pain he was in.

"Shut yer bellyaching, Smithy, and lie still, will you?" Andy ignored Danny's protestations and repositioned the field dressing. He grabbed Marcus's hand and pressed it firmly on top of the dressing. "Hold that." He ripped off lengths of tape and stuck the dressing onto the skin. Nodding quickly to Marcus, he moved forward and leaned between the driver and front passenger seats. "Col, he's lost a lot of blood. How long 'til we meet up with bravo team?"

"About eight minutes tops. Can he hold out?"

Andy frowned. "Probably mate, but he needs evac'ing as soon as."

"Radio ahead. Tell them we have incoming wounded. Get them to make sure that helo has a medic on board."

"Roger that." Andy grabbed the radio and started talking quickly into it. Colby could hear the response – bravo team would relay the message to Joint Helicopter Command, if the helicopter wasn't in the air already.

Colby gunned the battered Land Rover through the night, a sense of urgency snapping at his heels. Danny was in trouble. Andy's tone of voice had been full of quiet, serious concern for the man's condition. If he didn't get medical attention soon… He didn't want to finish that thought. Danny was one of his oldest friends. Already, this mission had cost far more than it ever should have. A cold, sharp anger began to prickle in the back of his mind. This whole mission had been a burn, right from the start. He had trusted the army implicitly all of his life. It had never betrayed him. Even the Aranamov affair had been as a result of corruption within the intelligence services, not the army. But this…he had been sent on this mission on the express orders of his old commanding officer. Diane had arranged extraction her end, using the British armed forces, not the Americans, because she feared they had already been compromised. By their own people. A horrible sense of deja vu filled him and he tried to choke it back down, focusing on the black ribbon of road in front of him.

Andy stopped talking into the radio for a moment. "Bravo team say they guessed we might have incoming wounded, so there's a medic on the whirly-bird anyway. Nice to know they have such faith in us getting out unscathed, huh! You might even wonder if they expected us to get out alive at all!" Andy's voice was heavy with sarcasm and he let out a short, sharp laugh. Little did he realise that, unintentionally, he had just given voice to Colby's own unspoken fears. The radio crackled again.

_"Alpha yankee, this is bravo yankee two two. We see you. We're one hundred yards up on your left. Will fall in behind."_

"Copy that. Good to have you along, lads."

_"Let's just get the hell out of here, shall we?"_

"Now why didn't we think of that?" Andy glanced back. "I see you."

_"And put your bloody lights on, will you? Run dark and we'll attract the attention of any local plod lurking about the place."_

Andy looked over at Colby and grinned. "Doug says to put your bloody lights on, Col."

"I would do, but I have no fuckin' idea where the damn light switch is! Goddamn weird-assed truck!"

"Danny hears you say that, Col, he'll smack you sideways, mate! It's that stick there on the side of the steering column. Twist away from you." The headlights blinked on and Colby immediately flipped up his night vision goggles.

"Yeah, that's better."

Andy sat back and ran his hand through his short hair. He sighed deeply and closed his eyes for a second. Colby glanced over. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Knackered. That's all."

"Hang in there, bud. An hour and we're on a helo outta here."

Andy sat back and sighed. "Gonna be a_ fuckin' long hour_…"

_**TBC…**_


	14. Oceans Apart

Disclaimer

*Headdesk* Seriously? _Again_? Can't you just go back and read some of the earlier disclaimers? It's not enough that I've just pulled over 5,000 words out of my arse, oh no, you want _more _from me? I'M NOT A MACHINE!

A-hem…

Too much coffee again…

Anyhoo, moving swiftly on, I wot writ this 'ere chapter, do not have any connection to the televisual masterpiece that is Numb3rs, any of the cast, writers or the bloke that delivers the sandwiches. Hell, I don't even live on the same damn _continent_, for crying out loud! Nor do I have any control over the regular characters. The Brits, though, are mine, and I'll blow your Land Rover up if you say different. If you don't have a Land Rover, I'll buy you one and _then _blow it up, just to prove a point, okay? The story's mine too, and that's my _Precioussssssss_!

Usual warnings for violence, cussing a blue streak, violence, unintelligible London Cockney slang and unfathomable British sarcasm.

Roll credits and wonky Numb3rs board…

* * *

Colby felt utterly exhausted. The methodical thump of the twin rotors propelling the massive helicopter pounded in his chest as he sat back on the hard seat. The inside of the Chinook was lit by an eerie green glow, mirroring the night vision goggles he had relied on throughout the mission. Opposite him sat the three British soldiers, all of them showing the same signs of fatigue.

It was always this way after an extraction.

The silent ride back to safety, relying on the skill of the pilots as they navigated their way back to a friendly base in West Germany. Everyone wrapped up in their own thoughts, trying to 'deal' with the trauma of what had happened. Your body reminding you that existing solely on adrenaline for hours at a time had a price. The aches and pains telling you that your body had been writing cheques your brain just couldn't cash. And that nagging in the back of your mind as you wondered what you could have done better, if the rewards of the mission had been worth the price…

He glanced to the far end of the belly of the helo and watched as two medics worked silently and expertly on his friend. Summoning up every last shred of energy he had left, Colby hauled himself to his feet and, steadying himself on the handrail that ran the length of the cabin, staggered towards the medics. He crouched beside them, looking at the pale and drawn face of his friend.

"How's he doin'?" Colby's voice was cracked with fatigue and emotion. One of the medics glanced up and smiled kindly at the American.

"He's a tough little bastard, sir. He's lost a lot of blood and the bullet collapsed his left lung." He laid a reassuring hand on Colby's shoulder. "But he's fighting, sir. He's fighting bloody hard." The medic patted him and then frowned. "You alright there, sir? You're not looking too healthy yourself."

"Yeah. Just tired, is all." Colby gave the man a small smile and shrugged. "Is he awake?"

"In and out."

Colby nodded and shifted his position. He looked down on Danny's pale face and his guts twisted. The man, normally so alive, so sharp and so full of mischief, looked desperately ill. His breathing was ragged and laboured, the oxygen mask only offering small relief from the effort of trying to breathe with only one lung. Danny's eyes flickered open and he looked up at Colby. His eyes were glazed and Colby could see he was struggling. And he could see the fear in Danny's eyes. It made his guts twist up even more and he fought hard to stop the tears clouding his vision. The American laid a gentle hand on his friend's forehead and smiled. "Easy, big guy. Don't try doin' anything dumb like talkin', okay?" Danny blinked slowly, and a tiny smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "You just keep on focusin' on breathing and doing _exactly_ what these guys tell ya to, got it? That's an order, buddy." His voice was soft and he stroked Danny's head gently, trying to calm and reassure the frightened man, but desperately fighting himself to hide the emotion from Danny. He was afraid his voice would crack at any second. No matter how well trained you were, when a bad bullet punched into you, you got scared…

Danny's eyes slowly closed and Colby sat back on his haunches, running his hand through his short hair. He felt sick. He felt angry. He felt utterly exhausted. Worst of all, he felt ashamed that he had let his friend down. He knew it was just an unlucky shot – a stray bullet that had managed somehow to find its target. But he was CO on this mission. This was his responsibility. And whether Danny blamed him or not, he blamed himself for his friend's suffering.

Colby closed his eyes and his head dropped onto his chest as he battled with yet another burden of responsibility. A hand on his shoulder made him glance up at a kindly face and a hand holding out a tin mug full of steaming hot liquid. The man smiled. "Let the medics do their job, Captain. They're quite good at it, you know." He nodded towards the mug. "Thought you looked like you could do with this."

Colby smiled and took the mug. "Thanks. Doug, is it?"

Doug nodded. "Doug Cross. Lieutenant. Twenty second battalion, her Majesty's very own arse-kicking bunch of bastards, the SAS. Nice to finally meet you. Heard plenty about you too, old chap."

Colby gave a small chuckle. "All lies, buddy. I promise you. All lies."

"Well, judging from what I've just seen, not _all _a bunch of horse-shit, Granger. Nice driving earlier, by the way. Anyone else would've tried too damn hard. You know. The whole 'I've seen the Bourne Ultimatum too many times and the bad guys are after me' red mist bullshit. But not you. You kept your head." He took a mouthful of his own coffee, studying the American. "And that was the smart thing to do, Granger. Sometimes staying below the radar is the best option." He grinned, his white teeth emphasised against the black and green of the camouflaged skin of his face. His stance was confident. He balanced himself perfectly against the rocking motion of the Chinook, not needing to hold onto any hand strap or rail for support. This was a man utterly at home in this environment. Airborne originally, if Colby was any judge. Probably former Parachute Regiment…

Doug Cross was, like all of his colleagues in the Regiment, a powerfully built and muscular man. Intense physical training kept all of them at the peak of fitness. But it couldn't cover up that blend of clinical professionalism and 'seat of the pants', don't give a damn attitude that they all seemed to have. A pair of piercing blue eyes shone with that same mischief that all of the 22nd seemed to inherently possess – a mischief born out of exceptional training, dedication to their unit and a blatant disregard towards the 'conventions' of army life. The 'Regulars' found them difficult to deal with them They weren't 'gun-ho' or any of that macho crap – they just didn't give a flying fuck what anyone else thought about them. And Colby liked that. He'd always had the same attitude, and it felt good to be around like-minded people... Colby took an instant liking to the man.

Doug beckoned and Colby stood up slowly, his aching legs cramping up as he rose. He hobbled briefly until the muscles decided to work properly and he followed Doug back to the seating area of the Chinook. "Thought you might want to take a look at what you managed to grab in your supermarket sweep at the compound." Doug sat down away from the rest of the team, who were now all starting to fall into an exhausted sleep, thanks to the strange lullaby of the twin rotor's vibration. Colby wanted so much to do the same, but the 'Nato' issue coffee Doug had given him had kicked in, giving him a brief burst of caffinated energy. He sat down next to Doug, cradling the tin mug in his hands, enjoying the warm sensation of the heated metal against the palms of his hand.

"Okay, so what did we get?"

Doug pulled out the contents of a rucksack. "Two laptops, three RHDs, several USB flash drives and enough damn paperwork to keep a bloody accountant happy." He grinned again and opened one of the laptops. "This is your department, spook boy." He chuckled again and handed Colby the laptop. "I just go in and shoot things when I'm told to." Colby put the mug down on the floor and balanced the laptop on his knees, looking at the screen.

"So you're logistics, then huh?" He flashed a brief smile at the Englishman.

"More your 'heavy artillery', dropping out of perfectly good aeroplanes and whirly birds doing the whole, 'raining death and destruction upon their heathen heads from up on high' sort of thing, old chap."

Colby grinned at the man. "You were Paras?"

Doug nodded and grinned. "Second Para. Finest bunch of whack-job nuts outside the Regiment. Half of our lot are recruited from Two Para." Doug took a mouthful of coffee. "By the way, how's that crazy girlfriend of yours? Haven't seen her since the funer…" He stopped mid-sentence. "Bugger. I'm sorry, Colby. That was pretty tactless of me. Gary was a good friend of yours, wasn't he?"

"Yeah. It's okay, Doug. I'm okay with it now." Colby paused briefly. That was a lie. It was still difficult to come to terms with Gary's death. They had been tight – as tight as he and David were now. He covered up any trace of emotion by a fleeting smile. "And that crazy girlfriend of mine is just fine, bud. She's probably tearing up LA as we speak."

"We wanted to hang onto her, you know. The Colonel was very disappointed when she decided to take retirement. Buggered if I know why the crazy mare decided to quit HM's Army anyway. Had her down as a bloody lifer."

"Thirteen years is a long time, Doug. And it's harder for a woman. If she'd have stayed on, she'd've just ended up back at INT14 as an instructor." He glanced up and grinned. "And you know her, man. Can you honestly see her spending her last years in the army as a freakin' driving instructor for a bunch of I-corps wannabes?"

"Good God, _no_!" Doug laughed. "I'd give her a week before she was fit to kill!" He chuckled again, but then a serious look came into his eyes. "How's she coping with being a civvy, Granger? Seriously?"

"Okay I guess. Why'd you ask?"

"She didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

"About her little…camping trip to Scotland?" Doug drained the last of his coffee and looked questioningly at Colby. "I'll take that blank stare of yours to be a no, then, shall I?"

Colby's curiosity was peaked. "What happened?"

"After she left the regiment, she had a bit of a freak out. Disappeared off the face of the earth for a couple of months. Apparently, she ended up camping next to some loch in the middle of nowhere. Didn't see a soul for weeks. I saw her when she came back to London." Doug paused, studying the American. "She had that…_look_. You know. The same one the lads get after the PTSD kicks in. She never talked to anyone about it, well, not directly." Doug leaned forward. "But we hit this bar in Soho one night and trashed a fair amount of tequila. She told me that she was _this _close to sticking a Glock in her mouth and pulling the trigger, Colby. _This _close."

Colby's guts twisted. He had no answer. No words would come. He'd been there himself. Alone, in splendid isolation, surrounded by spectacular countryside and finally, _finally_ at peace, knowing that going back meant walking into a nightmare world that you didn't understand, you didn't like and that didn't like you. Ending it there and then seemed like the best option. But something inside him had stopped him from pulling the trigger on that fishing trip after he had been released from his bond with a life he had loved so much. Being cut lose by the Army, trying to work out his place in the civilian world – many like him had been completely unable to make the adjustment. They _had_ pulled the trigger. But he hadn't. Something inside him had screamed no. This is wrong. This is not the way. Just like something had stopped Dee. What was it? Was it their instinct for survival? Their sense of responsibility? Fear of dying? Duty? Dumb fucking _stupidity_? Colby didn't want to think about it. But knowing that, in her own way, Dee had gone through the same kind of emotional rollercoaster made his bond with her stronger than ever…

"Look, Colby. Dee's a special friend of mine. I spent eight years working with her. She saved my arse more times than I care to mention. But don't let her fool you, old chap, okay? She's not as tough as she likes to make out. Being a woman attached to a regiment like ours was a _bloody_ tough gig for her, Colby, _bloody _tough. I know the INT14 boys are a special breed, but she had to work twice as hard to prove herself to the lads. And to her credit, she bloody-well did it too. But she's human, Colby. She's not a machine. And she's seen a lot, maybe _too _much, over the years. I've seen grown men fall apart after coping with a damn sight less than she's been through. Just…" Doug paused and then looked Colby straight in the eyes. His voice was soft and full of concern. "Just take good care of her for us, will you? We're actually rather fond of her."

Colby stared at the man. He knew that the regiment had a special regard for Diane, but it was becoming clear just how much they really thought of her. He leaned forward, his green eyes boring into Doug. "I want you to know I _love _her, Doug. More than life itself. And I _promise _you, my friend, I will crawl across broken fuckin' glass to the gates of Hell for her if I have to, okay?" He sat back and smiled gently. "And I promise I'll keep an eye out for any signs that she's having problems. I know what to look for, believe me."

"I know you do. I read your file. It took a lot of balls to do what you've just done, Granger. Especially after…" Doug stopped again, the flash of a warning in Colby's eyes telling him that this was something the American didn't want to talk about. Doug backed off…. He looked at the computer screen and nodded at a flashing icon. "Any good at passwords then, sunshine?"

Colby, confused for a split second by the complete change of direction in their conversation, glanced down at the screen and scowled. "Crap. Passwords. Damn it. Okay, let's see if there's a back door way in." He focused on the computer, tapping quickly at the keys and rebooting the computer into DOS. "I'll try going in through the registry. See if we can pick the bones out of this bastard."

Doug watched intently as Colby worked. The American zoned out his surroundings and focused utterly on the computer. This is what he did best. Intelligence analysis. His instinct for it was uncanny. Doug sat back and let the man work. Colby Granger's reputation preceded him. A likeable, easy going man, quick to laugh and even quicker on the draw with a 9mm automatic pistol, Colby's laid back persona hid an exceptionally intelligent, intuitive and dangerously volatile man. He tempered his fiery personality well, but Doug had heard the stories. He knew _precisely _what this man was capable of…

File names cascaded against a black background and Colby paused, reading each line and tapping the shift key. Then, a line caught his attention and he highlighted the file, tapping quickly at the keys. The file opened and Colby's eyes widened. "Oh, _shit_!" He looked up at Doug, the green eyes intense. Doug frowned, immediately concerned by the man's gaze.

"I need to speak to Dee, Doug. _Right now…"_

3333333

"They're clear." Micky tore his earpiece out and sat back, his head thrown back on the chair and his hands covering his face. He let out an audible sigh of relief. His voice was muffled as he let out an almost primeval roar behind his hands. "Aaaaaaa!" The release of tension was full of passion. He slumped forward, his face still in his hands. "Jesus! Thank _fuck _for that!"

Diane visibly slumped in relief for a second and then sat back up. "Good work, Micky. _Bloody _good work, old son. Let the Colonel know to stand the lads down. Looks like they'll have to wait for another day to have a bit of fun." She patted her friend on the shoulder and stood up. "I'll tell Don his boy's safe." She walked out of the war room and into the open plan office.

Micky glanced up, his hands dropping away from his face and he watched Diane's retreating back. He noticed her posture. Not the usual ramrod straight back of a soldier, but the hunched, exhausted but relieved posture of someone who had just been told that the person they loved more than anything or anyone else in the world was alive and safe. He smiled quietly to himself. "Adda girl, Dee." He spun back to the bank of tech and reattached his earpiece. Time to stand the lads down…

Don Eppes was at his desk, his eyes closed, the fingers of his left hand pinching the bridge of his nose. Diane watched him for a moment before approaching his booth. He looked shattered. None of them had slept for at least two days, and the pressure was beginning to tell on all of them. In a corner, Nikki worked quietly. David stared intently at his computer, all of them unaware that Diane had walked quietly into the office.

David instinctively glanced up and saw the tall, powerfully built Englishwoman standing alone at the end of the walkway. She looked absolutely shattered. Her emerald green eyes locked with David's soft brown orbs. She smiled weakly and gave him the thumbs up. David sat back in his seat and sighed deeply. He felt as if a massive weight had been physically lifted from his shoulders.

"Don?" Don's eyes snapped open and he looked up at the drawn face of Dee above him. She nodded. "He's out."

Don's face split into a wide grin. "Damn, that boy's hard to kill!" He laid a gentle hand on Dee's arm. "You did a hell of a job, Dee. Time to get some sleep, don't ya think? You look done in."

Dee slumped down into the empty chair in front of him and leaned her head back. "Ah, just chuck a bleedin' blanket over me. This'll do fine." She lifted her head and looked straight at Don, a mischievous grin twitching the corners of her mouth. "Nah, really. I've slept in much worse."

"Don't tell me. You'll get some proper sleep once Col's back on US soil, huh?"

"This uncanny ability to know what I'm thinking is beginning to concern me, Eppes. I think you've been spending far too much time in the company of us spooks, old son."

"Hey, I have a damn mathematician on the team! I figure if I'm gonna have to have spooks as well, they might as well be the best in the business, right? And besides, what is it that Col says?"

"That it's better to be inside the tent pissing out rather than outside the tent pissing in?" Diane grinned.

"What? NO! And…eww, Dee! I am _never _going camping with you guys if that's what you get up to!"

Diane threw her head back and let out a genuine laugh. She shook her head. "What's wrong with that? Best way to waterproof a tent, uric acid. Nah, seriously." She looked deadly serious for a moment but a flick of her eyes told Don that someone was standing behind him. He glanced in the reflection of the computer screen opposite him and saw the ghostly image of David and Nikki reflected in the glass. He slowly smiled at Dee, in on the joke…

Don looked mockingly surprised. "_Really_?"

"Oh absolutely. The uric acid in the urine reacts with the polycarbonate compounds in the fabric. Makes it completely impervious to water."

David couldn't hold back any more. "Are you _kidding me_? Seriously? Pissing on a tent makes it waterproof?"

"What the fuck are you talking about, Sinclair? All pissing on a tent does is make the tent stink of piss. She's doing a mind fuck on ya, old son. She does things like that. It amuses the sick bitch. With _respect_, Guv, of course." Diane waved a stately hand in dismissal at the man but a broad smile played across her face. Without pausing, Micky's attention focused on Diane. "Lad's've stood down." Micky held out a file to Diane. "Operations report, Guv. Fascinating reading. Especially, oh, let's pick the choice bits out that are _really _gonna take some 'splainin' to do back in Washington, Lucy, shall we? How 'bout the illegal use of a satellite? Or commandeering a fuck-off great ConRo death banana by blackmailing a Fleet Air Arm Sargent that if he didn't get a helo in by the time you counted to ten you'd tell the entire world and his wife about that incident in Dusseldorf six years ago where he…"

"Cox, _careful,_ old son." Diane nodded towards the three Americans. "Civvies. Wouldn't appreciate details of our exploits, don't you think? _Especially _bloody Dusseldorf!"

"Bugger. Sorry. Forgot meself there for a minute." Micky grinned and leaned against the partition wall. David was frowning deeply, confused by some kind of in-joke between Don, Dee and Micky. "What? I thought we were playin' wind the civvies up." Micky looked puzzled, the mirth pulling at the corners of his mouth.

"Perhaps we should play wind the grunts up, Don, waddya say?" Nikki's defiant tone was tinged with a touch of humour herself.

"That's _squaddies_ to you, young lady. We're _British _army, not yer Yank bunch of oi-palois!" Micky sniffed sharply and posed, mocking the woman.

Diane grinned broadly. "Yup. What he said." She pointed up at Micky.

"Grunts, squaddies, makes no odds to me. And I wanna know about Dusseldorf. What happened? Or are you too embarrassed to fess up?" Nikki smirked back at Micky Cox. Don groaned. The flirting was ramped up to eleven…

Diane and Micky exchanged looks, mock outrage and grinning mirth fighting for dominance on their faces. "Ooo! Get _her_! Feisty little mare, in't she?" Diane winked at Micky. "Just your type, old son!"

"Oh now you really _are _winding the civvies up!" Nikki's sardonic smile briefly vanished. "I take it that whatever agent Granger is doing and wherever the hell he is right now, he _is _okay, right?" Diane glanced up sharply at Nikki, but noticed the genuine concern hidden behind the words. Nikki might have known Colby for only a few weeks, but she already had his back. Nikki went up a notch in Diane's estimation. She appreciated that sort of closely knitted team bond. She nodded and winked.

"Yeah. Like Don said, he's a bugger to try and kill, that boy." Diane laughed.

"Bullet-proof Granger. Best person to stand behind in a firefight." Micky nodded seriously. "Better than a fuckin' type four kevlar vest, that bloke. Right then. Who's up for some breakfast? I'm bleedin' _starvin_'!"

The gentle banter was their way of letting off a bit of steam. Don enjoyed bantering with Diane. Her normally stiff, cold and formal persona masked a playful, fun loving person whose quick wit he found both challenging and entertaining. The British pertinacity to sarcasm and sharp sardonic humour was difficult for Nikki and David to fathom sometimes. But Don understood it perfectly.

He also knew now why Colby's humour was such a unique and important part of his character. These were people who had seen too much. They'd done and seen things that nobody should have to see or do. They'd seen the darkest, ugliest underbelly of humanity. They'd been damaged by its influence, wounded physically and mentally, emotionally scarred for life. But that humour, that razor sharp wit spoke of survivors who lived each day as if it were their last. Once you understood that, you understood them.

"I'm still tryin' to work out why people keep pissin' on perfectly good goddamn tents." David muttered and suddenly flashed a smile. "But breakfast sounds sweet."

"Blindin'! Guv's paying." Micky flashed a cheeky grin at his boss, which evaporated as he saw the look on her face. "Or…maybe…_not_, then…"

Diane laughed and stood up slowly. "Nah mate, this one's on the bastard government, old son. Keep the receipt. We'll claim it back on expenses." She patted Micky on the shoulder. "Grab your jacket, Cox. Let's get some scoff. Oh, and bring the satphone. Just in case Col needs to contact us."

"On it."

Micky quickly trotted back to the war room and Diane turned to the three Americans. "Would you good people care to join Sergeant Cox and myself for breakfast, gentlemen? And lady?" She glanced at Nikki. The three FBI agents were utterly taken aback by the formality of her invitation.

"Um, _ookay_?" Don smiled nervously. Even he was out of his depth here. Was she mocking them or was she actually being formal?

Diane's face split into a broad grin. "Oh for Christ's sake, you uptight buggers, I was _messing about_! Sheesh! 'Ere! Coxy! You were right about this bleedin' lot!" Diane grabbed her jacket as Micky tossed it towards her, his stride unbroken and a broad grin echoing his boss's smile.

"Ah, don't worry 'bout it, Guv. Told ya. This lot 'ere have only had a couple hundred years to try and work out what the hell irony is, let _alone _sarcasm!" He pulled his jacket on and stood with his hands outstretched questioningly. "Well? Ya coming or wot?"

David grinned broadly. "I could eat. Yeah. Definitely…"

"Me too." Don stood up quickly and swung his jacket from the back of the chair.

"Nikki?" Diane smiled briefly at the woman. "You joining us?"

"Um…"

Micky wound an affectionate arm around her waist. "Ah, c'mon gorgeous, I'll let you share my waffles _and _I'll tell you about Dusseldorf…"

"Cox, you filthy little beast, do I have to get the water pistol out again? Put her _down_, Micky! You can't go around molesting female FBI agents, you rampant, dirty little puppy! Especially when said female FBI agent is _fully _capable of _kicking your scrawny little Cockney arse_!" Diane playfully smacked Micky around the back of the head. "I do apologise for his behaviour, Nikki. He's quite incorrigible."

Nikki glanced at the Englishman. Micky was a good looking man. Bright blue eyes shone with fun and mischief. Short cropped dirty blonde hair still managed to look untidy and dishevelled in a 'bed head' way, despite its short length. Powerfully muscled, his lean frame was toned and well defined. And she couldn't help liking the man's infectious nature. She smirked at him. "That's okay, Diane. Besides. I kinda like waffles…"

Don glanced at David, rolling his eyes…

333333

At that early hour of the morning, the diner was almost empty. Apart from a lone trucker drinking coffee at the counter, the five occupants of the corner booth were the only customers. The waitress glanced up and towards the group. She knew the three FBI agents well. They were regular customers and she liked them all. The red haired woman and the blonde man with the infectious laugh she didn't know, but they seemed pleasant enough. She had remarked on their English accents and they had been incredibly polite, thanking her profusely for _not _asking if they were Australian. She had shared a brief joke with two of the most dangerous and skilled soldiers in the world. And she had never even for a moment suspected who or what they might be…

Another burst of laughter erupted from the booth as Micky came to the end of another story. Diane scowled mockingly at him as he grinned, winked at her and shovelled yet another mouthful of scrambled egg into his mouth. "You're a wretched liar, a lousy story teller, you chew with your bleedin' mouth open, you're a crap comms officer and you smell funny, Cox!" She turned to the Americans. "It's all a damnable lie, I assure you. A damnable, damnable lie. I only hit the bugger _once _with the pool cue!"

The FBI agents all burst out laughing again. For a few brief moments they could relax. Colby was on his way home. That was all that mattered right now. The first orange rays of a beautiful sunrise punched their way into the diner. Dust motes floated in the shafts of light and Nikki could feel the warmth of the strengthening sun warm her back. She felt Micky's strong thigh next to hers. It felt strangely reassuring. Things were okay again…

A sharp tone made Diane dropped her cutlery onto her plate and hold up a hand. "Oops. 'Ang on, incoming…" She pulled the satellite phone out of her jacket and pressed it to her ear. "Firecracker…"

All conversation at the table stopped dead…

"_Baby, it's me. Listen. I'm looking at something here and it's not good. You need to watch your back, Dee. We have a major problem. This whole thing's been a double cross from the get go. We have a leak, baby. Another __**fuckin'**__ leak. And this time it ain't in the FBI. It's within our own team. Dee, listen. I want you to check something out for me. Take a look at the file for Agent…"_

The diner exploded.

Glass from the huge picture windows shattered into a million deadly shards and sprayed the occupants with a cascade of shimmering, lethally sharp points of light. The metal frame of the windows and door twisted and folded up on themselves. The trucker was tossed casually to one side by the sheer force, yelling in agony as a red-hot piece of shrapnel slammed into his back. The waitress was hurled backwards, her hands frantically trying to protect her head and face from the full fury of the explosion…

The five agents threw themselves down, instinctively protecting their heads. Micky threw himself over Nikki, trying to protect her from the worst of the blast…

Don felt his chin hit the edge of the table and the sharp, iron-tasting tang of blood in his mouth as his lip split. He dropped onto the seat and rolled under the table, using it as cover against the deadly shrapnel that screamed through the air…

David, sitting on the edge of the booth, was thrown to his left and onto the floor. He curled instinctively into a ball, taking whatever cover he could from the end of the box seat. Above his head, glass shards flashed past him, clattering into the wall opposite and cascading down like a waterfall. The glass bounced on the floor, sending the pieces spinning off in random directions, their original energy dissipated but still dangerous nevertheless…

For Diane, time seemed to slow down. Every detail happened as if it was being played at the wrong speed… There was no sound. Just the windows bowing and flexing and then exploding inwards as a ball of fire erupted towards the diners, the angry flames stabbing into the shattered building. She saw the piece of shrapnel slam into the trucker. She saw the waitress being blasted into the wall of the diner, bent double, her arms thrown out towards her feet, her torso contorted and bent, the blood already beginning to flow from the wounds on her face and head…

She saw David, curled and desperately trying to protect himself from the blast. She saw Don's face hitting the table. She saw Micky trying desperately to protect the cowering figure of Nikki and push her down out of the deadly path of the blast…

The delayed sound suddenly hit her like a sledgehammer. The deafening roar, the screaming of twisted metal, the stench of hot steel stinging the inside of her nostrils – it all came together in one single, cataclysmic wave…

Twisting away from the direction of the blast, she threw herself face down onto the seat of the diner, her hands thrown over her head against the flying debris…

3333333

"Dee? _DEE!" _Colby's face turned into a furious snarl. "DEE! TALK TO ME BABY! _TALK TO ME, PLEASE! TALK TO ME_!" His fingers almost crushed the plastic casing of the satellite phone. Doug looked serious. He had heard the blast through the earphone as Colby pulled it momentarily away from his ear, wincing and turning his head instinctively away from the sound of the explosion. A second later, Colby was yelling into the phone, his voice frantic…

"_**DEE!…"**_

_**TBC…..**_


	15. Aftershock Part One

Aftershock Part One

Disclaimer and Easter message from the Author

Disclaimer – me, nada. Them? Everything except the Brits and the story. Them's mine. Everything else belongy CBS (THE FOOLS! DON'T CANCEL NUMB3RS! DON'T CANCEL NUMB3RS!) and Nick and Cheryl, the geniusesesssesssss that they are (how do you _stop _spelling that?). Usual warning for violence, bad language, and a surprising lack of Cockney humour in this episode…

For your info, this is part one of a two-part episode. Or a three-parter. Depends how I feel…

Now. On to the Easter message:

Happy Easter!

What?

You were expecting more?

What am I, the _Pope_?

Roll credits and wonky Numb3rs board…

* * *

David felt as if he were choking. He had lain motionless, curled into a tight ball to try and protect his head and face while glass shards, lethal, deadly and strangely beautiful, had cascaded around him. Throughout the blast, he had held his breath. Throughout his years with the Bureau he had been shot at, blown up and smacked about more times than he cared to remember.

In Tel Aviv, he had experienced first-hand on several occasions what it felt like to be caught up in the middle of a suicide bombing. He had felt the full fury of white phosphorus and experienced that heart stopping moment when Colby had rugby-tackled a young suspect who was holding a vile of blasting gel. Luckily, Colby's expertise in all things covert and dirty trickery had given him the knowledge that although more powerful than nitro-glycerine, blasting gel was also far more stable. Yeah. _Colby _had known that. _David_, however, damn near had a heart attack in the few brief seconds that the vile spent tumbling through the air before it had clattered to the ground. He remembered holding his breath, waiting for the blast to slam into them. They had all been exposed, with no cover to duck behind. When the blast didn't come, and as Colby smugly handcuffed the bewildered boy with his usual sardonic smirk on his face, David had slowly stood up and stared at Don and Megan, all of them amazed to still be in one piece. At that point, he could have quite cheerfully _strangled _Colby…

But nothing had prepared him for this moment.

Nothing he had experienced so far had trained him how to cope with being up close and _real _personal to a bomb with your name on it…To be caught up in the middle of utter chaos. To be completely and utterly at the mercy of the Gods and to have absolutely _no _control over whether you live or die. To work on pure survival instinct. To forget your friends even _existed_ and only think of one thing. Staying alive…

His lungs ached, reminding his brain to send the nerve impulse to _breathe, damn it, breathe_!

David took a huge gasp and slowly uncurled. As he looked up, he could see a woman's arm hanging limply down the front of the booth's leather-look upholstered seat. The PVC covering of the seat had torn and a white triangle of backing material stood out in sharp relief against the tan outer surface that surrounded it. The woman's arm brushed against the white material and a vivid red bloodstain had started to spread out like a fan across the clean surface. The blood was running down the arm and fingers of the woman's arm, dripping lazily onto the floor. The arm didn't move…

Don groaned and moved carefully, trying to get out from underneath the smashed table above him. The brittle Formica covering had crazed and shattered and lay like flaking paint all around him. The tubular metal frame had buckled and the round nose of the table dipped down at Don's eye level. He lowered his head and shoulders and wriggled out, carefully avoiding the glass shards that lay in front of him like a glittering minefield. He swept the lethal glass fragments out of his path with his arms, praying that the glass wouldn't cut through the fabric of his jacket sleeves and into his skin.

He reached David and gripped him tightly by the shoulders. "David! You okay?"

David returned the grip, asking Don exactly the same question at the same time. "Don! You okay?" Both men nodded at each other. Don immediately turned away, his next instinct was to check the rest of the team. Nikki…where the hell was Nikki?

Don frantically looked around and then saw the intertwined bodies. Micky Cox had thrown himself over Nikki, protecting her from the worst of the blast. Micky moaned slowly and gingerly pushed himself upright, leaning back against the ripped back of the seat. "Jesus…" Micky's voice was barely a whisper as he fought against the overwhelming urge to pass out. He slowly moved his head to the left and looked down. "Nikki? Hey sweetie, you okay?"

Nikki groaned loudly and her mass of curls rose up, the blood from a blow to the head trickling down the side of her cheek. "Yeah…" She nodded slowly and pushed herself back up into a sitting position. "I'm okay. I'm okay." She put a hand against her head, the fingers visibly shaking. The shock made her feel like every movement was being made as if she were swimming through treacle.

"Oh God _please _no…" Micky's voice cracked. Nikki looked up and at the man, who's normally smiling, tanned face had drained of colour. "Dee!" Micky exploded from his seat, grabbing the shattered remains of the booth table and ripping it from its twisted bolts. He hurled the table top out of the way and dropped to his knees next to the opposite seat. Micky stroked the short red hair, pushing blood-soaked strands away from her eyes. As he did, the blood smeared across her cheek. Her green eyes were closed.

Diane lay absolutely still.

Micky felt like his heart had stopped. He shakily placed the two fingers of his right hand against her neck, feeling desperately for a pulse…

Don moved quickly to Micky's side, his heart a lump in his chest. No... This wasn't right. This shouldn't be happening…

Micky looked sharply at Don. "There's a pulse. It's weak, it's all over the fuckin' place but bugger me if there isn't a damn pulse! The tough old bird's _still fuckin' ALIVE!" _Micky sprang to his feet and immediately started to check Diane. He needed to know she was breathing. He needed to know what the primary blast injuries were and which needed lower priority. He needed to know all of this _right now_… His battlefield instinct kicked in and he immediately went into rescue and resuscitation protocol. "As soon as those medics arrive, get them _right _here, Don!"

"I'm on it." David looked down at his boss. "You stay with Micky, Don. Nikki? You with us here?" David placed a finger under Nikki's chin and tipped her head up. Despite four years in LAPD, Nikki was still relatively new to the extreme world that the Violent Crimes Unit lived in. She needed to get up to speed _fast_… "Nikki, I need you to check on Margaret and that guy who was at the counter. Nikki? Hey, Betancourt. You hearing me?" David's voice was gentle but firm.

Nikki looked up and nodded, giving David a small smile. "I'm hearin' ya. And this loud ringing too."

"That'll pass. Go check on Margaret. And call this in. If someone hasn't already done it, that is..." David held out a hand and helped Nikki to her feet. She was still shaky but quickly retained her poise. Nikki glanced briefly at the prone figure of Diane and back at David. He didn't say anything. But the worry and sadness in his eyes told Nikki all she needed to know. Diane was hurt. _Badly _hurt…

The scream of sirens started to fill the air as the emergency services responded to countless 911 calls. The explosion had been massive, blasting the diner to smithereens and disintegrating every window on the surrounding buildings within a two-block radius. David already knew that the trucker was dead. As he had regained his bearings, he had seen the prone figure of the man, a pool of blood already swelling around him. The metal shard had been big, hot, sharp and travelling _real _fast when it slammed into his soft body. The man hadn't stood a chance. He hadn't seen Margaret – her body lay behind what was left of the counter.

David looked down and saw Diane's satellite phone lying on the ground. The screen was still alight, but a blinking figure showed that the connection had been lost. He knew that Colby had heard the explosion. He also knew just how his friend was probably reacting right about now. He had seen Colby's dark side flash to the surface on several occasions. When they had battled so desperately to get the victims of a train crash out of a carriage that had been twisted and wrecked, he had seen Colby's frustration bubble to the surface. A young man, Doug, had been on the phone to Colby from the inside of the carriage. He had thought he could move. Despite Colby's desperate attempts to get the man to stay still, Doug had tried to free himself. It had brought a massive lump of wreckage crashing down on him. Colby had heard the man die. He had seen his heat signature fade away on the screen. Colby's emotions, usually so well covered, had exploded in a cataclysm of frustration, sorrow and anger. David knew damn well that right now, Colby was thousands of miles away, totally unable to do anything to help. He knew that it would be driving the man out of his _mind _with worry. He had to try and contact him before Colby tore half of Europe up trying to get back to Diane…

He reached down and picked up the phone. "Micky, what's Colby's number?"

"I ain't got time for phonin' home, mate. Kinda busy here." Micky was working quickly on Diane to make sure she could breathe as easily as possible. He ripped down the still-hanging and tattered curtain and was using it as a field bandage to stop a secondary wound bleeding. He glanced up briefly at David.

David glowered at him and thrust the phone out. "Colby was on the other end of that line, Micky. He _heard _it! How do you think he's feeling _right about now_?"

Micky paused and then nodded. "Don, keep the pressure on here. She stops breathing, you start doing it for her, got it?" Micky stood up and reached out towards David. "Give me the phone." David handed it over and Micky looked at it expertly. "Bloody aerial's buggered." He glanced around. "Hand me that bit of tubing. On the floor. Next to what used to be a cigarette machine."

David turned around and scanned the floor, looking for the piece of tubing. He saw it glinting amongst the twisted cigarette cartons that had spewed out onto the floor. Picking it up, he turned and handed it to Micky.

"Ta. Right then. Let's hope this works." Micky bent and twisted the tubing, fitting the end into the jack plug where the broken aerial had previously sat. "It's tubular. So it should act as an amplifier, resonating the signal probably better than that poxy aerial used to." Micky didn't flash David his usual self-satisfied grin. His face was deadly serious. He knew how bad things were and how much worse they could get if they didn't stop Colby from completely going off at the deep end…

He looked up and the grin reappeared. The radio was thrust towards David, Micky's face once again serious. "It's crackly, but it's through. You're his best mate, David. Talk him down, old son."

David pressed the satellite phone to his ear. He had never prayed so hard for the person on the other end of the line to pick up…

33333333

Colby felt completely numb. He couldn't breathe. A crushing weight seemed to settle onto his chest and his throat felt as if it were closing. His tense fingers still gripped the satellite phone and he stared at the plastic and metal frame as if it were toxic. He looked up at Doug, utter panic in his eyes. "No…"

"Hold on Col…" Doug reached towards the phone, deep concern etched into the weather-beaten face. "Just wait up a minute mate…"

"No, Doug. That did _not _just happen. It did _not_!" Colby's voice trembled.

"Col…"

"That DID NOT just fuckin' _happen, Doug_!" Colby erupted furiously, a snarl on his face and his green eyes intense. He spun and hurled the phone the length of the Chinook, the plastic and metal casing clattering on the floor at Andy's feet. The men had all woken sharply and knew that something was terribly wrong…

Andy reached down and picked up the phone. It buzzed in his hands…

"Bloody hell! COLBY! GET 'ERE NOW!" Andy held the phone up. Colby spun and sprinted the length of the helicopter's body, grabbing the phone from Andy's hand…

"DEE!"

"_Col, it's David."_

For a second, Colby stared at Doug, confused. "David?"

"_Car bomb. Big one, buddy."_

Colby's fingers tensed on the case. "Tell me she's alive, David. Please. Just _tell me she's alive…"_

_"She's alive, bud. She's hurt pretty bad, but she's alive._"

"What happened?" Colby's voice was harsh and broken…

"_We were in Margaret's diner having breakfast. Then the goddamn world exploded."_

"Are you okay?"

_"Couple of scratches, but yeah, I'm okay. Don and Nikki need to see a medic and I think Micky's hurt more than he's letting on. But we're alive, Col. And Diane's gonna be okay."_

"David…"

"_I __**said**__, she's gonna be __**okay**__, Granger. Are we clear?" _David's voice was sharp and authoritative. He knew his friend well enough by now to know that Colby responded best to a direct order. And David had better bloody sound convincing to trigger the right response in his friend…

He had always believed it to be Colby's weakness. Just two weeks into his posting in LA, Colby's hot headed army mentality, as David had called it, had almost got him and David killed. The confrontation with the Vietnamese biker gang had been a tense stand off because of Colby's belief that just because he had been trained to follow orders, everyone else had too. He had quickly realised that wasn't the case as the bikers had called his bluff. Wolf tickets, David had explained. Don't try selling wolf tickets…

But as he had got to know Colby, he realised that his 'army mentality' also had its uses. Colby was certainly not an 'automated robot' who blindly followed every order he was given. But the right tone at the right time could trigger a deep, subconscious reaction within the man. He didn't need to tell Colby to calm down. Everything was made perfectly clear in his tone of voice. He hoped desperately that he'd got it right this time…

Colby closed his eyes, the phone still pressed to his ear. He felt in turmoil. Diane was hurt. She was alive, but she was hurt. And he was thousands of miles away. Although he was surrounded by his friends and colleagues, Colby felt utterly alone. He hated this feeling of helplessness more than anything else in the world… "Yeah. We're clear." His voice was quiet and emotionless.

Slowly, he reigned in the violent fury that had filled him. He stood, motionless, his eyes still closed. David was talking in his ear. He couldn't hear the words. It was merely background noise as he thought of nothing else except that rage, focusing it into a pinpoint of potentially devastating concentration. God help anyone who was around when he decided to unleash it…

"_Colby? You hearin' me buddy?"_

"Huh?" Colby's concentration snapped back into focus.

_"I said you need to tell me what you were telling Diane. It all…it all just happened so damn fast, bud…"_

Colby frowned as he heard the emotion break through David's voice. He knew his friend was trying to stay in control of the situation. That's what had made him the natural choice to be relief supervisor to Don. But Colby knew that David was probably just as emotional as he was, if he was honest about it. David just managed to hide it better under the exterior of a fully paid up FBI agent. The badge was David's own private Kevlar jacket against the world. Colby instantly focused on his friend.

"David, are you sure you're okay?"

_"I'm good, Col. Just tell me what you were telling her."_

"Agent Mark Tyler. Pull his file. Everything you can. Get Micky to call in whatever favours he needs to. And _find _Tyler, David. Find him and isolate him _until I get there_…"

In the diner David heard the focused fury in Colby's voice. His own soft, brown eyes darkened and he frowned. "Got it…"

The line went dead…

33333333

Nikki walked quietly down the corridor of the hospital. Don had headed back to the office to get the Violent Crimes unit up to speed and to produce his own witness statement. All hell had been let loose. He had insisted that Nikki go to the hospital to get the head wound checked out. When she had protested, pointing out that his own face was covered in blood, he merely shrugged and pulled rank on her. Dismissing his cut and bloodied lip as unimportant, he had bundled her into the ambulance with the hurried instruction to stay with Micky and Diane. "Call me as soon as you here anything, okay?" Don had smiled at her briefly, although she could still see the worry in his eyes for Diane…

In the distance, she could see the hunched figure of Micky Cox. The man looked shattered. His head was drooped forward, one hand supporting his forehead, the other arm in a pristine sling. She could see how much effort it was taking the man to stay calm as he waited to hear the fate of his 'Guv'. Nikki walked up to him and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Hey. How's she doin'?" Nikki's voice was soft and full of concern.

Micky slowly glanced up and smiled sadly. "No idea, sweetheart. Still waiting for the doctors to tell me what's going on."

"Let me see if I can get any sense outta them, huh?"

"No point, Nikki. She's still in triage." Micky sighed. "They'll tell us when they've got something. To tell us. Ya know. If anything happens…" Micky's voice trailed off and his head dropped back down onto his chest. Nikki sat down next to him and put a comforting arm carefully around his shoulders.

"Hey listen. For what it's worth?" Nikki gave Micky a reassuring smile. "I think she's gonna be fine. I mean, you _did _call her…what was it?"

"A tough old bird."

"A tough old bird. Yeah. Exactly. I have no idea what that actually _means_, but I'm guessing that it means she's pretty bullet-proof herself, huh? Like Granger?"

Micky smiled sadly. "I said bullet-proof, darlin'. Not fuckin' _bomb_-proof."

"Hey, c'mon! She'll be _okay_, Micky!" Nikki felt Micky's hard torso lean into hers and she put her other arm around him, holding him close. "She'll be okay. I promise…"

"Agent Cox?"

Micky looked up sharply from Nikki's comforting embrace. Standing in front of him was a doctor dressed in surgery scrubs. A surgical mask hung around his neck and his hair was neatly tucked under a green scrubs cap. He smiled reassuringly. "She's in ICU. It um…it may be a little while before she wakes up though, I'm afraid."

Micky's hand was resting on his thigh. Nikki saw the fingers tense and she quickly wound her own fingers into his to reassure him again. Micky didn't respond to her gesture. His gaze was fixed on the doctor.

"What injuries did she sustain?" Micky's voice was cold and clinical.

"Are you sure you want to talk about this right now?"

"I _said_, what injuries did she sustain?" Micky glared coldly at the doctor.

The doctor smiled reassuringly. He knew he was dealing with professionals, but he could also see that the British man cared deeply about the woman in his care. Agent Cox looked like the sort of man who could handle the truth. And would probably know instantly if the doctor tried to soften the news…"Her primary injury is severe pulmonary contusion. Her left lung has collapsed and she's suffered bleeding and damage to the alveoli and blood vessels in the upper bronchial tract. She has secondary injuries, lacerations, contusions and extensive bruising to her back and neck. The pulmonary contusion is causing us some concern, Agent Cox. She is having a great deal of difficulty breathing, so we've got her on a ventilator to help her. We've managed to reinflate the left lung, but there has also been some damage to her spleen caused by the primary shock wave from the blast. She's too weak for us to operate at the moment, so we've stabilised her as best we can." The doctor paused and smiled kindly at Micky. "Bud, believe me, she's fighting hard. If she makes it through the next twenty-four hours, she's got a much better chance of survival. All we can do now is wait."

The doctor sighed and sat down next to Micky. "There is one other concern."

Micky stared ahead, not wanting to hear the words…

"We're worried that the primary injury could cause neurotrauma."

"What's that mean?" Nikki was still holding onto Micky's hand, stroking his fingers in an effort to calm him down…"I thought you said it was her lung that collapsed, not some kinda brain injury…"

" I did, but it's all part of the primary injury, Agent. If the lungs are damaged it reduces the oxygen uptake from the air, and that in turn reduces the amount of the oxygen delivered to the brain. When that happens, tissue destruction initiates the release of hormones into the blood which changes its function. It irritates the nerve endings in injured brain tissue and contributes to blast-induced neurotrauma." The doctor paused. "That doesn't mean to say she's suffered neurotrauma. But it's something we are concerned about. Until she wakes up, we won't know for sure."

"You tellin' me she could be brain damaged?"

"Like I said. We don't know for sure, Agent." The doctor looked at Nikki and smiled. "She's physically very fit and surprisingly muscular for a woman. That physical strength will help."

"Believe me mate, it ain't her physical strength that'll get her through this. When she finds out that they blew her Land Rover up, you watch her make a fuckin' miraculous recovery just so she can find the son of a bitch and kick his fuckin' arse to next Tuesday and back!" Micky let out a short, mirthless laugh. "Man, she is gonna be bleedin' _livid_!" He chuckled, but the laugh quickly died away. He looked up at the doctor, the bright blue eyes sad. "Listen. Um, thanks for everything you're doing for her, mate."

"That's my job, Agent Cox." The doctor smiled and stood up. "She won't be waking up any time soon. I'd advise you to both go and get some rest." He nodded curtly and with a last warm smile, turned and walked away…

_**TBC….**_


	16. Aftershock Part Two

Aftershock Part Two

Disclaimer

Bored now…Really? I _have _to? Otherwise they'll do _what_? Yikes! Okay, well if you put it like _that _then…

I hereby declare that I have nothing to do with Numb3rs. I make no profit from this, nor do I have any claim over the regular characters. I DO, however, have complete ownership of the British characters in this 'ere story _and_, buddy, the damn story's mine too! So ya boo sucks to the lot of ya on that one!

What?

Too much?

Quick note: For those of you _not _from the East end of London like the author is, a 'right old blast' is slang for a good time. You'll thank me when you get to that bit…

Anyway, that pretty much covers all the bases apart from the usual warning about strong language, violence and scenes of a disturbing nature. Oh, and head's up – we're going all angst in this chapter, so have the Kleenex ready…

Roll credits and wonky Numb3rs board…

* * *

Colby glanced at his watch. A quarter after three in the morning. Around him, his fellow passengers, suited and booted in the very best tailoring, snored softly like a pen full of well-dressed hogs. A lone air stewardess walked silently up the isle, checking a pillow here, tucking in a stray blanket there. Colby smiled quietly at the stewardess as she passed him by. She returned his smile with a warm one of her own and paused by his seat. Placing her hands on her knees, she bend forward and very quietly spoke, so as not to wake the other passengers. "Can I get you anything sir?"

"No thanks, I'm good." Colby was polite, charming and utterly professional, despite the flirty look in the woman's eyes.

She straightened up, still smiling. "Well, if you do need anything at all, just ring." She pointed up at the call button, that smile still fixed on her face. It was now actually starting to creep Colby out a bit. _Nobody_ smiled for that long…

He sat back into the comfortable seat and sighed. The flight from Germany to LA was a long one. Thankfully, his friends at the 22nd battalion in Herefordshire and sympathetic contacts at MI6 had pulled a few 'strings'. The result was that Colby had been put onto a civilian flight instead of the noisy, uncomfortable confines of a military transport plane. They'd also made sure that he had been 'upgraded' to the luxury of business class instead of risking deep vein thrombosis back in economy. Comfy, reclining seats, plenty of legroom and the best meal he'd had in weeks. It was the Brit's way of saying thanks for looking after Danny. The opportunity to grab some shut-eye in a comfortable seat was something he desperately needed and he tried to relax into a calm place where the sleep would finally overtake him.

It didn't help, though.

All the comfort, the relaxing surroundings and the quiet hum of the engines could do nothing to help Colby forget, even for the briefest of moments.

Every time he closed his eyes, a vicious procession of dark and vivid images flooded into his mind. Everything that had happened. Everything that _was_ happening. And those fresh wounds reopened older, deeper scars that lay hidden beneath the surface. Wounds that went back _years_. Colby felt as if his insides were slowly being cut open with a rusty knife. The memories – the nightmares – they didn't just cause him mental distress. They were so _real_, so charged with emotion and actual, physical pain that he felt sick to his stomach. Snippets of conversation had echoed through his mind, all clamouring to be heard, and all reaching a deafening crescendo that only he could hear. His head span and he felt the skin on the palms of his hands grow slick with sweat. His fingers curled around the ends of the armrests, the tips turning white with the tension. The onslaught seemed relentless.

He couldn't stop it.

He couldn't control it. It threatened to overwhelm him like a tsunami - boiling around him, pounding at him, beating at him until he gave in to a silent and internal crying, pleading, _begging _submission for it to _stop_…

He'd only just about made it to the sanctity and privacy of the toilet cubicle before throwing his guts up. As he sat on the tiled floor of the toilet, the back of his neck resting against the cool steel of the wash basin and the sour taste of bile still in his mouth, the tears finally came.

He had sobbed, silently. Not just for his friends. Not just for those he'd lost, or loved.

He sobbed for himself.

For _once _in his life, Colby Granger cried for _himself_.

Even at his father's funeral, the fifteen year-old Colby had stood silent and dry eyed. His father would not have approved of seeing his son show his emotions in such an open and public way. So Colby had obeyed his father, even from beyond the grave. He hadn't shed a single tear in public.

But later, when the last of the well wishers had left the house and it was just him, alone in his room, he had tried to let go. He had tried to let the tears come. God, how he had _tried_. But no tears came. Instead, all he had felt was that same crushing, choking feeling that would swamp him again years later in the Chinook. He had heard his mother quietly sobbing downstairs. The young Colby knew where his place was. It was at his mother's side right now. He may have lost his father, but she had lost her husband.

His parents had been deeply in love and have provided Colby with a stable, well-disciplined and loving home. His father had been a frighteningly strict man, but that disciplinarian had known to temper his iron-like strictness with his son with a deep affection and love. He was proud of Colby. Proud of the man he knew his son would become. Straight A's on every report card, a place on the school football and state wrestling teams and a strong, popular and hardworking boy, his father knew that Colby's future was set to be a good one, whatever he decided to do. Destined for a good college and then military academy, he knew already that his son wanted to follow the family tradition and join the Rangers. He also knew that his son wanted to become an FBI agent and continue to serve his country after he had completed his time in the army. Granger senior always knew his boy would serve others. It was his duty. An ideal he had instilled in the boy from an early age. Just as his father had instilled it in him before.

But all that had changed in a single day. One mistake. That's all it took. One stupid, lousy mistake and twenty years of loyal service at the tractor factory was snatched away from Colby's father in an instant. There had been no chance of a reinstatement. Despite his years of dedication, they had seen one silly mistake as the perfect excuse to get rid of him and bring in a younger, fitter man. The mistake he had made had been a tiny one but the factory had blown it out of all proportion. Colby's father became the victim of a company that had been taken over by a larger corporation and had developed a devious conspiracy to get rid of older workers and bring in new, cheaper labour. They did this through a process of pressure tactics, manipulation of the facts and plain, old-fashioned dirty tricks. But Colby's father had seen it differently. He had been blind to the changes in what he believed was a company that held the same values as he did. He was shocked to realise how misguided he had been. And that was what truly broke his spirit. As far as he was concerned, he had failed. Failed to protect and provide for his family. The canning hit the man hard.

He had sat down one evening a few days after he had lost his job and talked to his son. He explained that he needed Colby to be strong. That his mother needed him to be strong. Colby hadn't understood why his father seemed so withdrawn at the time. His father had been so intense with his words that it had frightened the teenage boy. He had a deep feeling of dread and had not understood why he felt so frightened.

But a few days later, he realised that his father had been saying goodbye to him.

He realised that his father was passing the mantle of responsibility for the family onto him. A fifteen-year-old boy. Only fifty yards of that mountain road lay unprotected and without a guard rail. Fifty yards in a twenty-mile stretch of a twisting, steep and treacherous road that led up the side of the mountain. Colby had been told of the accident by his Principle. He had heard the words. But all he could think about as the Principle had expressed his deepest sympathies for the boy and how the school would do everything they could to help Colby in this difficult time, was the utter betrayal of his father. The sense of abandonment that filled him. And the sense of duty that had been instilled in him by the very man who had, to the shattered emotions of a fifteen-year-old boy, ultimately shirked his own duties by abandoning his family. Colby was angry at his father. Angry for him taking the easy option out. To run away and leave his family to deal with the consequences. But he also knew that he would have to now push all of that anger aside and support his mother as she grieved for the loss of her husband. It was the first time Colby learned to bottle up his emotions. It turned into a bit of a habit…

He had responded in exactly the way he had been taught to. In exactly the way his father would have expected of his son. He was the man of the house now. It was his _duty_ to look after his mother…

It was _always _his damn duty!

Colby's sobs deepened. Too much pain was bottled up inside him. Far too much. And finally, the damn had burst. 'Let it out, Colby. Let it out…'

He cried for what seemed like hours. Once the damn had been breached, nothing could stop the flood of emotions from pouring out.

Finally, gasping for air and his cheeks soaked with a lifetime of uncried tears, he pulled himself to his feet. Looking into the small mirror, a pair of red rimmed eyes, the soft green of his irises still clouded with tears, had stared back.

He needed to pull himself together.

People needed him at the top of his game right now. They didn't need some broken, wailing failure of a man, they needed _him_. Diane needed him. Colby silently chastised himself for being weak. For being emotional. For having the audacity to shed tears for himself when those he loved were in terrible danger. For almost falling into the same trap his father had crashed into before him. For almost giving up.

No.

_A Ranger never quits. A Ranger Leads the Way…_

The words of his old company commander rang in his head. He had stood to attention in a sunny courtyard one spring morning, his new uniform pristine and pressed to perfection. His mother had been there for his passing out parade. He had graduated top of his class. His father would have been so damn proud of him. And so damned ashamed if he quit now…

He turned the cold tap on, letting the icy water run over his fingers. Cupping his hands together, he scooped up the water and dowsed his face with it. The freezing cold water made his skin tingle, as if it was being stabbed by thousands of tiny pins. It felt good. It grounded him, washing away the weakness of earlier. No one had seen or heard his momentary lapse. No one need ever know. Right now, he had to be strong. For Diane. For Danny. For his entire team and probably half of LA.

He heard his father's voice, saying that one phrase that always told Colby it was time to buckle up and mean business…"_Time to put your game face on, son_…"

Colby sniffed sharply and straightened up, drying the last of the cold water droplets from his face with the feather-soft towel. Another of the advantages of flying business class. No goddamn paper towels that disintegrate the moment they detect moisture. In business class, you got _proper_ towels.

A slow, lazy smile spread across Colby's lips. It wasn't a nice smile. The erratic yo-yo of emotions had only helped to strengthen and refocus that pinpoint of fury even more. People had hurt him. People had hurt the ones he loved.

Payback was gonna be a _bitch_…

Colby straightened his jacket and raked his fingers quickly through his short hair. No matter what he did with it, it always seemed to look like he'd just climbed out of bed. It had been the dismay of both his mother and his commanding officer at Fort Benning. Diane always just laughed gently at what she had called his 'bed head' permanently dishevelled look…

Confidently, he pulled back the bolt and opened the toilet door. The Colby Granger that stepped back out of that airline toilet was not the same man who had, just moments before, sat sobbing on the toilet floor.

_This _Colby Granger had his game face on…

3333333

"Hey Nikki. How ya doin', girl?" David looked up and smiled briefly at the dark-haired woman. He placed a gentle hand on her arm. "You okay?"

"Yeah. I'm good. Couple stitches is all."

"Is Micky okay?"

"No, not really." Nikki sighed and perched on the edge of the table. "He's got a dislocated shoulder and some cuts to his back. Couple are pretty deep. Doctors say he should still be in bed but he hasn't left Diane's side."

David's stomach tightened as he heard Nikki mention Diane's name. He struggled to say the words because he dreaded the answer…"How…how is she?"

Nikki paused and looked at David sadly. "Not good. She's um, yeah. She's pretty bad, David. I'm sorry. I really am. I wish I could say she was fine, I really do."

David didn't know what to do with himself for a second. He stood, confused and angry. Diane had become part of their lives and despite his initial first impressions, David actually now cared very deeply for the crazy Englishwoman. Not least because he had never seen Colby happier. And anyone that made his friend that happy, after all he had been through, was okay in David's books. He dreaded to think what Colby was going through right now…

"Okay we need to…um, yeah. We need to find out if forensics have come back with anything yet. Can you get on that for me?" David reverted to type. Do something. _Anything._ As long as it kept your mind from dwelling on the horrible consequences of this morning's seemingly innocent breakfast invitation…

"I'll get onto them right now." Nikki's response was flat and emotionless. But David knew that she was trying to keep her emotions in check and that she felt the same as he did. They had to do something. Keep busy. Find out who had just tried to blow them to hell and back. And _why._

But David also knew that he and Don had an additional burden. They had the worry of trying to keep Colby on a leash when he touched down at LAX in five hours time. The debriefing had been delayed by Washington to allow Colby to be at Diane's side. Despite being a shadowy and devious place, Langley still had a great deal of respect for the two spies who had done so much for their country. So they let Colby have a little 'personal time'.

That suited Colby _just fine_…

David walked into the war room. Perched on the corner of a table, Don sat and studied the images that scrolled in front of him on the plasma screen. David quietly laid a file down on the table next to his boss and stood. Finally, he broke the silence. "Um, so Don, Nikki's back at her desk. She's okay, couple of knocks on the head, but she's good."

"Yeah. I saw." Don turned to David, his face deadly serious. David could see the bright red line that ran the width of his bottom lip. It had split the skin down to the join between his lip and his chin. A couple of white tapes crossed it diagonally, holding the edges of the cut closed. Other scab-covered scrapes and cuts lacerated his face. They were superficial, but an instant reminder of events just a few hours earlier. David looked down. He knew what Don's next question was going to be. "Diane?"

"She's alive. Don, she's not good." David looked back up. "I'm sorry, man, I really am."

"Hey bud, I'm not gonna shoot the messenger, David. None of this is your fault. Besides. I know you're as worried about her as I am, right?"

"I'm worried about her, yeah. Of course I am. But I'm _more _worried about how Colby's gonna take it."

Don nodded. "Yeah. Me too, buddy. Me too." He folded his arms across his chest and looked thoughtful for a moment. "Look. We're working with only a small amount of information here. There's a lot of people who really, _really _don't want us to know stuff. And you said Col said that Tyler's involved, right?"

"He said that we need to find him and isolate him, whatever that means."

"It means we hold him without letting anyone get to him or him get a message to anyone else."

"That's arbitrary suppression of due process, Don."

Don turned and looked straight at David, his face completely expressionless. "If that's what it takes, David, then yes."

David frowned. Both Colby and Don had always gently ribbed him about being a 'by the book' man. David believed that there were rules for a reason. But working with Don had shown him that sometimes, those rules got in the way of justice. So they needed to be broken. Or at least bent a little…

David had difficulty in squaring his belief in a system that ultimately worked with a fundamental disregard for one of the most basic principles. Due process. Whatever crime Tyler may or may not have committed, his basic civil liberties gave him the right to fair treatment according to established principles of law. It was in the Constitution, for Christ's sake! David remembered back to a time when Don's 'flexibility' when it came to the Constitution had made Megan completely rethink her entire career. David was still sure that it was this that had finally broken the camel's back as far as Megan's decision to leave the Bureau was concerned.

They had hit a meth lab and a guy in a van, seemingly innocent and genuinely lost, had caught Don's eye. The man ran. Stupid decision. Colby and a SWAT team had pounded after him, chasing the man straight into the path of a bone-crushing body block from Don. Don's hunch had paid off. _Eventually_. They had managed to stop a militia group blowing up the Farmer's American bank in the heart of downtown LA. But David _hated_ building an entire case on a hunch. David saw black and white. He didn't see the shades of grey that Colby and Don seemed so comfortable with. He tried to think of himself as the men's moral compass, reminding them when they strayed a little too far from true North…

Perhaps now was one of those times…

"Don, look. We're building an entire case on information from Colby that we _know _is tainted. We've been sent off in random dead-end directions from the get go. Are we really gonna run this path? After all this goddamn smoke and mirrors crap? Nothing seems real right now, and we're working with _that_?"

"That bomb this morning seemed pretty real to me, bud."

"You know what I mean, Don."

Don turned suddenly and faced David. "Do you trust Colby, David?"

"What? Of course I do! You know I do! But I _don't _trust the sons of bitches who are pullin' Colby's strings right now. He's emotional, he's fired up and he ain't thinkin' clearly. And Don? I'm sorry to say this, boss, but neither are you."

"You're outta line, David…"

"No Don, I'm not." David's voice was full of passion and a dire need to _make Don understand_. "These people, these bastards that we can't see, we can't hit? They live their lives totally outside the rules. They make it up for their own ends. They're so damn powerful, they think they're _above _the damn law! If we start doin' the same, we're just as bad as they are, Don. And if we can actually get to the bottom of this whole nest of vipers, we're gonna have one _hell_ of a time makin' anything stick in court if we start tearing up the Constitution like they do! It'll never go to trial. It'll just be quietly 'dealt with', won't it? Probably by some poor son of a bitch like Colby who's gonna have to shoulder yet _another _burden that _we've _forced him to take because we acted like _them_! I do _not_ want that, Don. I wanna see them in court. In public. Answering to the American _people_, and not just some quiet assassin's bullet somewhere along the line that leaves them dead but their goddamn reputation _intact_! And I wanna see you, me, Colby, Diane, _all _of us getting on with our lives and doin' what we're good at, which is putting bad guys like them _behind bars_!" David slammed a fist down on the desk, the turmoil of emotions finally busting through his usually calm exterior. 'By the book' boys had their moments…

Don looked at his friend and partner. David was normally so controlled, so restrained. But Don knew that David was a passionate believer in everything the FBI stood for. Fidelity. Bravery. Integrity. And of the three, it was the final one that mattered most to David. "David, I get that, I really do." He placed a gentle hand on his friend's shoulder. "But they're fightin' dirty, bud. That bomb today was meant for us."

"We don't know that for sure. We coulda just been unlucky…"

"You _seriously _think that, David? C'mon, man, _really_?" Don frowned. "I damn near lost my entire team this morning. You _know _that was no damn co-incidence. So why are you so messed up about this, David? You need a bit of time out here?"

"No! God _damn _it, Don!"

"David, whoa, just hold up a minute, okay? What we went through this morning was pretty damn traumatic for all of us, _all _of us, including you. So don't be afraid to admit that you've got some issues to deal with here."

"You've been spending way too much time talking to your shrink, Don."

Don smiled carefully. The action pulled at the cut on his lip and the smile was tinged with a wince. "Don't worry bud, I ain't gonna get all touchy-feely here and tell you to get in touch with your inner child or any of that psycho-babble bullshit." He stood up and gripped David by the shoulders. "But I _am _tellin' ya…no, I'm _askin' ya _to run with this, David, okay? At least try and find Tyler and we'll keep a lid on it until Colby touches down. After that, we'll take another look at things. And I _promise_ you David, we'll do things by the book. Because I wanna see these bastards in jail too. Not swept under some convenient departmental rug in Washington. Look, David, you're _right_, okay? You're right." Don held a hand up in submission. "I know. If we wanna do this right, we have to make sure that the evidence is there. And it _will _be, David. We've dealt with this kinda crap before and yeah, I hate it too, buddy. I'd much rather deal with some whack-job drug dealer than I would with this, what was it you called it? Smoke and mirrors shit? But that bomb outside the diner this morning was meant for _all _of us, David. Which means somebody just went to war with the FBI. And they're about to find out that _nobody _is above the law, buddy. We do this _right._ Deal?"

"Deal." David's head dropped. "Look, I'm sorry about what I said…"

"David, don't ever apologise for keeping me on the straight and narrow, okay? I kinda get lost occasionally, especially when people I care about are concerned. We're good here." He patted David's shoulder affectionately. "Now let's find Tyler…"

33333333

_"Ladies and gentlemen, we will shortly be arriving in Los Angeles. The weather outside is a warm twenty seven degrees and our descent should bring us in to LAX in about ten minutes. Please ensure that your seatbelts are fastened and that any trays are in the upright position. We would like to thank you for flying Lufthansa and hope you enjoy your stay in LA."_

Andy Thompson sat up. "Thank fuck for that." He stretched his back and turned to his fellow passenger. We expecting a welcoming committee then, Col?"

Colby turned and shrugged. "Who knows?"

Andy frowned. "Oookay then?"

Colby sighed and looked apologetic. "Sorry bud, that was kinda rude. Nah, I don't think so. Washington knows we have a situation. As far as they're concerned, I'm still active. We won't get anything from them until the time is right."

"That's just weird. What, no debrief at _all_? Don't make sense."

"The debrief'll be with my team, Andy. Don't worry. You'll like 'em."

"I've no doubt about that, mate. I just don't like that having to look over my shoulder every five seconds feelin' I've got right now."

"You're Special Forces, buddy. Suck it up. If you can't handle it, you should've stayed in the goddamn Royal Engineers."

"Yeah. Cheers for that."

Colby instantly looked apologetically at the man. "Hey, look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that the way it sounded, Andy…"

Andy grinned. "I know you didn't, Col. Just…speaking without thinking here."

"Yeah, gotchya. It's kinda pretty much up there at the front of my mind, too."

There was a small silence between the two men. Andy straightened up in his seat and glanced at Colby. The American had been quiet throughout the entire trip and Andy was concerned for the man's state of mind. Colby had spent a while in the toilet and when he came out, Andy noticed a look in his eyes that chilled him to the bone. He knew that look. That was the look of someone who, as his colonel would say, had '_reached a bit of a decision_'. The ironic understatement of that quote was that in effect it actually meant 'duck. Things are about to get _real _complicated...' Andy quietly grinned to himself. That strange, gallows humour that set the Special Forces apart from their colleagues kicked in. Like Colby had said, if you didn't like this shit, you stayed in the Engineers. It looked like his first trip to the US was going to be a right old blast. But that dark sense of macabre enjoyment that he felt was tempered with a concern for his ability to handle this particular situation. He had never realised that being part of Special Forces crossed so readily into the world of espionage. If he had known that earlier, he might have taken Colby's advice and stayed in the damned Engineers after all. He could see how deeply it corroded people after a time. How it blurred the lines between right and wrong. And he knew that it was entirely possible that he was going to have to step over some pretty blurry lines himself before this was done. But right now, he knew damn well that all Colby could think about was Diane.

Finally, Andy spoke again, his voice soft and reassuring. "Look. Don't worry, mate. She'll be okay. She's a Brit, old son. We build 'em tough."

Colby turned and gave Andy a small, sad thank-you smile. He wished he could be so sure of that…

3333333

Their footsteps echoed as the two men walked along the air-conditioned corridor to the main airport terminal. A quick wave of their security identity had got them through customs without a pause. As they walked out into the noisy chaos of the terminal, Colby's eyes scanned the crowd. He wasn't looking for Don or David. He was looking for anyone who was 'out of place'. He hadn't been lying to Andy when he said that he was also concerned about having to 'watch over his shoulder'. But what he had said about his masters in Washington had been a lie. They were very much involved with everything that was going on. They knew that people were going to get burned. They knew that the Agency's reputation was at stake. The 'rules' kinda went out of the window when you found out that someone was crapping on your own doorstep…

"Hey Col." Colby looked sharply to his left and gave the owner of the voice a small smile.

"Hey David."

The two men wordlessly embraced, the obvious affection and mutual respect for each other abundantly clear to the Englishman as he looked on. When they broke apart, David still gripped Colby's shoulders firmly. "You okay, buddy?"

"Just get me to the hospital, David." Colby's green eyes were intense. He was home. Now all he could think about was Diane. He had to see her. After that, after he had seen with his own eyes that she was alive, he could focus utterly on going after the bastards who had put her there…

David threw a questioning look at the powerfully built man who had accompanied his friend. Colby noticed the look. "David, this is Andy Thompson. One of our friends from across the Pond. Andy? This is special agent David Sinclair. My partner."

"His _boss_, actually. But we're kinda relaxed about that sorta thing." David held out a hand and the Englishman shook it firmly. "Always a pleasure to meet you guys. I…um, I take it you're, um, with the Regiment, ya know, one of them…" David didn't finish the sentence but Andy nodded in response.

"Yeah mate. One of _them _lot." The Englishman smiled warmly. "And it's a pleasure to meet you too, Sinclair. You were in Tel Aviv for a while, weren't you?"

David looked surprised. "How'd you know that?"

Andy grinned enigmatically. "Oh, we know all kinds of shit, my friend. All _kinds _of shit." Andy nodded to the exit. "But right now mate, I think we better get moving, don't you?"

3333333

The car journey to the hospital was a quiet one. Colby could feel his stomach knotting up with every passing mile. He knew what to expect. And he knew that he had to go through with this. But he didn't want it to be real. He didn't want to walk into that room and see her lying there, helpless, hurt, completely apart from him but close enough to touch…

Every step down the hospital corridor brought Colby closer to his worst nightmare. He had lost everyone he had ever loved. He couldn't lose Diane. He couldn't…

Micky Cox glanced up as he heard footsteps nearing the room. Diane was still lying silently on the bed, the tubes of the ventilator rhythmically hissing and pumping the essential oxygen into her body. In the corner, a monitor showed a steady heartbeat, but very little other response. Her vitals were stable but on the verge of critical.

"_Oh god_…" Colby grabbed at the doorway for support. He had known what to expect. But seeing it for real had all but knocked his legs from under him. He looked at Micky, his green eyes filled with desperation and agonised concern. "Micky?"

Micky stood up carefully. The injuries he had sustained were hurting a damn site more than he'd let on. But his relief had arrived. He walked silently towards Colby and put his good arm around the man. Colby carefully embraced him back, glad to see him alive but his eyes never leaving the silent figure on the bed.

Micky stepped back. "She's stable, mate. She's just…" Micky sighed and ran his hand over his face. The build-up of pressure was almost too much for the tired, hurting man to handle and he visibly sagged. "She's just taking a bit of a time out, that's all."

Colby didn't respond. His eyes were fixed on Diane. David, standing quietly behind his friend, held out a hand to Micky in a gesture of support and an indication to give Colby some space... "Let's go get a coffee, bud. Give 'em some time together, huh?"

Micky nodded and rested an affectionate hand on Colby's shoulder. "Go see if she'll listen to you, mate. I've tried to tell her to wake the hell up, but she's 'avin' none of it. Maybe she'll listen to you. I dunno. I'm sorry, mate, I tried to keep an eye on her for ya, I really did…"

Colby's focus shifted to the Englishman. His voice was cracked with emotion and the words were harsh with remorse. "You got _nothin' _to be sorry about, Mick. You took care of her. You saved her life at that diner, buddy. David told me what you did for her. I owe you, man." He embraced the man again, his silent thanks clearly understood. Micky nodded again, chewing at his bottom lip. He hated to see the normally easy-going American so twisted up inside.

Colby stood silently as the three men moved away. His feet seemed rooted to the spot. He wanted to run to her. To hold her. To tell her things were going to be okay. But he couldn't move. That same choking, crushing sensation coursed through him. The entire world seemed to close in around him, exerting a pressure on him as if he were being crushed inside the gravitational hell of a black hole. Time itself stopped. The hospital faded into nothingness. All he could see was her. All he could hear was the steady, rhythmic bleep of the machine that was keeping her alive, like a mechanical heartbeat. From somewhere deep inside his soul, he summoned up the last remaining shred of strength and put one foot in front of the other. The few short steps to her bedside seemed like a never-ending expanse of nothingness. His head pounded, the blood pumping through his body by a heart that was beating twice as fast making a strange whooshing sound in his ears. Another step. And another. Finally, he came to her bedside, that short journey across her room the most difficult of his entire life. He sank into the chair that sat next to her bed and gently wound his fingers into her limp hand. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words stuck in his throat. Slowly, he lowered his head face down onto the pillow, next to hers, their cheeks touching. His other hand stroked her soft, auburn hair.

Colby Granger felt his heart break…

From the doorway, David stood silently, watching his friend. He felt a wave of despair wash over him. He so desperately wanted to comfort Colby. To tell him things would be okay. But in that moment, he also knew that Don was right. They had to find those responsible. They had to be brought to justice. The aftershock of the explosion hadn't just reverberated through two downtown blocks. It had reverberated across the world. A look of dark, hard determination flooded into David's eyes.

This time, they'd gone too far.

_This _time, they'd fucked with the _wrong damn team. _And now, that team would take them down.

_Whatever it took_…

_**TBC…**_


	17. New World Order

Disclaimer:

Firstly, many thanks for everyone who has sent me messages asking about Enigma. As I said, I had to take a time out from the story due to work commitments. But we're back, and things are gonna start getting interesting over the next few weeks…

Pay attention. This one's a complicated one. And there'll be a test at the end…

As always, I hereby declare, yada yada, that I have nothing to do with Numb3rs, nor do I profit in any way, shape or form from this story. I have no control over the regular characters but the Brits are mine, the story is mine and that muffin over there's mine too, so keep yer beady eyes off it! Usual warning for bad language, unintelligible Cockney slang, British terminology and cultural references that may cause some people to go, "What the f…?"

Roll credits and wonky Numb3rs board…

* * *

The two Englishmen were in quiet conversation over a cup of stale coffee. Obvious concern was clearly visible in Andy Thompson's eyes as he talked intently to his friend. Micky Cox was exhausted. The bedside vigil he had kept next to Diane had been riddled with a combination of guilt, pain and absolute fury aimed at the sons of bitches that had so rudely interrupted their breakfast had all conspired to drain every last ounce of energy out of his body. His back hurt like a bitch. All he wanted to do was drop into a bed, self-med up to the eyeballs with morphine and fall into a black, dreamless, painless sleep.

But that could wait.

Right now, they had work to do…

The two SAS soldiers exchanged briefings, ideas, thoughts and pure gut instinct over the worst cup of coffee either of them had ever drunk. Andy winced and put the paper cup back on the table. "No wonder the Yanks've decided to go with a full-on NHS medical system. Perhaps they'll be able to get decent bloody vending machines if they do!" He looked up at Micky, the throwaway comment just stalling for time. His frivolous tone vanished and he stared intently at his friend. "Okay Mick, what the fuck happened?"

"Restaurant go boom. Much excitement." Micky shrugged and gave his friend a half-hearted grin. "Mate, I've got no idea. I was too damn busy trying to keep Dee from pegging out on me that I just ignored everything else." He rolled his shoulder painfully, wincing as he felt the tight stitches that held the skin on his back together pull. Andy frowned. It wasn't like Coxy to show any hint of discomfort…

"You should be in bed."

"Who's? 'Cause that dusky little number that's part of Col's team is a cracker…"

"You, Micky Cox, are a mysoginistic, politically incorrect dirty little bugger. You know what I mean."

Micky shrugged. "There'll be enough time for grabbing some shut-eye later. Right now we've got a really, _really _pissed off ex Delta Force nutter with a grudge and an A1 to stop from going all lone gunman in the belltower on our arses. How is he?"

"Fucked up."

"Okay Doctor Phil, and that's your professional opinion as team medic, is it?"

"Yep."

"Not helping, Andy…"

Andy Thompson leaned forward, briefly holding his hands up in submission. "I know mate, sorry. Long fuckin' flight. I don't even know what the fuck day it is."

"Thursday. All day."

"Really? What happened to Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday?"

"You left them behind in Kosovo." Micky took a mouthful of lukewarm coffee. "Right. The intel you picked up in Kosovo. Colby gave us an alert on Tyler. Why?"

"Because the son of a bitch is either the biggest traitor this country's ever had, or he doesn't even realise he's working for the wrong team, buddy." Colby laid a gentle hand on Andy's shoulder and smiled fleetingly at Micky. Andy spun around in his seat, embarrassed that his finely tuned senses hadn't picked up the approach and presence of the big American.

"Fuck me Granger, yer quiet on yer feet!"

"Not the first time I've been told that, my friend." The smile flickered again across Colby's lips, but Danny, sitting directly opposite him, could see the terrible pain that showed through briefly behind the soft green eyes. There wasn't a hint of recrimination in his look. Colby had meant what he'd said earlier – he didn't blame Micky for what had happened. Despite the fact that inside, Micky Cox was giving himself a damn good metaphorical hiding for not protecting his Guv, but instead getting side-tracked by the charms of a cute little FBI agent called Nikki…

"You okay, Col?" Micky's voice was soft. He knew the man wasn't likely to start opening up right now. The inner pain he saw seconds earlier was gone. Now, Colby had that 'look' in his eyes. The same stony cold, vicious, vengeful look that Andy had seen earlier on the plane. Right now, Micky Cox knew that Colby Granger was probably at his most dangerous. And Micky had seen what Colby could do when he had his 'game face on', as the Colonel had once put it.

Colby answered softly. "No Micky, I'm not. I am _so_ not okay. But we have a job to do. The medics'll look after Dee. There's fuck all I can do to help there. The best way I can do that is to _find the sons of bitches that did it, buddy!_" The diamond hardness in the words could have cut steel. He pulled up a chair and sat down with the Two Englishmen, a thoughtful look on his face. He glanced up and looked directly at Micky. "When me and Danny cleaned out the office at the camp, we picked up a load of USBs. One of them detailed how Tyler was acting as a handler for a double agent in a terrorist cell in LA. They had a crapload of chatter detailing meetings, photographs of Tyler with his contact, the whole nine yards."

Andy picked up the thread and took over as Colby paused. "Trouble is, Mick, that the contact was a home grown, not a foreign national. From the gist of it, that bombing at the army base was just the start. You know how our remit whenever we've gone into a war zone is hearts and minds first?"

Micky nodded. Despite its fearsome and violent reputation, the SAS had developed the highly effective 'Hearts and Minds' policy during their battles in Borneo and Malaya in the 1950s and 60s. By winning the hearts and minds of the local tribes, who hated the Communists, they were able to set up bases deep in the heart of enemy territory and launch violent and effective attacks on the insurgents and then, with the help of the locals, melt back into the jungle. It was a policy that had won them two wars and saved the British government from extreme international and diplomatic embarrassment…"So you're saying that selling the guns to the gang bangers was the terrorist doing a hearts and _minds_ on the fuckers?"

"What it does is flood the market with high end weapons, mate. Means that the damn things are almost impossible to paperchain. It's a damn good way of covering up who the real arms merchants are. From what we read, these buggers are smarter than the average bear, Booboo."

Colby continued, the two men in perfect sync with each other. "They know that the quickest way to cause a city-wide riot is to pep up a gang war that's been going on for years, bud. Keep the LAPD and us Feds busy trying to stop the whole place from going up and that gives the terrorists the perfect opportunity to launch a multiple attack while we're looking the other way."

Andy nodded and took over. "Then, when that's bubbling away nicely, give the go ahead for our Provisional mates to get busy on their outstanding to do list, namely by blowing the crap outta a couple of ex military targets with connections to our old problem back home. That'd be you, mate. The resulting big bang causes even more panic amongst the Great Unwashed and off goes Plod in another random direction. The terrorists have more time to cause as much carnage as they possibly can before Plod can launch a counter attack, the city goes boom, the politicians who aren't in the loop are left standing with their pants round their ankles, holding their dicks in their hands and looking like complete wankers who can't even control a simple gang war. Hey presto, it's a win win for the terrorists. Maximum chaos, maximum casualties, maximum embarrassment for the USA, minimum risk to them. Then they just melt back into the urban jungle ready for another strike later on down the line. They've picked up on the hearts and minds principle, mate, and run with it. This isn't just terrorism mate, it's psychological warfare. And they're getting bloody good at it."

Colby's green eyes were intense. "The attack isn't in the planning stage, Micky. It's already _begun_. And what it's leading up to makes it look we've got a possible Mumbai on our hands."

Andy frowned. "But what's really thrown a bloody spanner in the works is the Irish connection."

Micky scowled darkly, dreading the next part of the briefing. "Yeah, hang on a minute, mate, just go back a step, would you? _What _was that you said about the Provisionals?"

"Mick, part of the intel out of Kosovo was a whole damn file on our operations over in Belfast. Names, operations, deployment, contacts, the whole fuckin' works. There were a lot of big players on that list, mate. People like you and Dee. They're tying loose ends up. And they've got sympathisers right here in LA. O'Neils Demolition, for one thing."

Micky sat back, his tired face drawn and pale. "So that bomb _was _meant for me and Dee."

"Yeah. Courtesy of the Real IRA."

"How the _fuck _have the Irish got involved with our Islamic friends?"

"You never heard the saying my enemy's enemy is my friend, buddy?" Colby sat back in his chair.

"So they ain't just going for a quick headline grabber, they're going for full-out fuckin' _anarchy_! Set gangs against each other and give 'em the guns to kill themselves, hit a military base and make it look like the army's caught napping, give old grudges a kick up the arse…who the _fuck _is doin' this, Col? This is _way _above even Bin Laden's fuckin' paygrade, mate."

Andy mused quietly. "Well, there's a theory about this organisation called the Illuminati…"

"Oh, give over will you, you berk! _That _fuckin' urban myth? You been reading the Da Vinci Code again mate? You honestly think there's some kinda New World order bunch of Bilderberg wannabes manipulating the whole shebang?" Micky snorted with derision.

"No, of course I'm not, numbnut!" Andy scowled and dropped his voice. "The problem's in house, mate."

"Tyler."

"He's part of it, yeah."

"Yeah, but _why_, Andy? What the fuck is the thinking behind all this?"

Colby's face was unreadable as he studied Micky. "How's Washington these days, bud? Seeing as you're based there, what's your opinion of the mood on the Hill?"

"A lot of people are scrabbling for Obama Snacks like Scooby on a binge night, Guv. But there's also a lot of people who ain't happy with the administration, some of the old guard in particular. That telling off over the Christmas Day bomb attempt in Detroit that Obama gave your security services left a pretty nasty taste in a lot of people's mouths. He doesn't have the support of the hawks in Langely right now. So where are you going with this?"

Andy waited for a second before scowling deeply at his friend. "Oh, c'mon Cox, get there faster!"

Micky digested the information and frowned as he thought it through. He looked up. "_Shit_! They're going for a bloody regime change! They can't go for a hit on Obama, that would just turn him into a martyr. But if they could bring him down some other way, such as creating a multiple attack on one of the biggest cities in the USA and make it look like it's the government forces that have lost control... That'll give them the ammo they need to say Obama's a weak president and can't even keep order in his own back yard just as a crap load of troops are being deployed to Afghanistan. The public think that things are out of control, rioting in the streets, yada fuckin' yada and _then _they hit them with evidence linking them to the whole supposed terrorist plot and you've got yourself…"

"…A perfect way of getting rid of the man at the top by shitting on his reputation and we're left to clean up the mess on the ground." Colby nodded. "Nasty, huh? Our guys have learnt a crap load from the Russians over the years." Colby glanced at his watch. "I don't know what kinda time frame we're working to here, guys, but our primary target now has to be Tyler. He's our only link in all this."

"Tyler's way out of his depth."

Andy nodded. "I get a feeling he doesn't even realise just how much he's been played and how much of a world of shit he's in."

"You let me worry about Tyler, Andy." Colby stood up and laid a gentle hand on the Englishman's shoulder. "Right now, we need to get back to the FBI. Where's David?"

"Right here, bud." David stepped through the door and stood next to his friend. For a brief second, he studied his partner's face. The mask was almost perfect. The placid, laid back nature of the man gave him an easy going quality that he projected to the world, throwing those taken in by it completely off guard. But David knew better. Behind that was a cold, hard professional who was probably one of the best FBI agents the Bureau had. A professional who right now was internally a white hot mass of fury. And that was a problem. Colby had always been a hothead. Explosive flashes of rage had caught even his own team off guard in the past. But those times had been nothing to what David could sense in his friend right now…

Colby gave his friend a small, sad smile. He noticed David's brief, wordless interrogation. He could almost hear his partner's thoughts – how crazy is Colby right now? How the hell am I gonna keep him from going Ted Bundy on my ass? How clearly is he thinking? – all valid questions. And all instantly dismissed…

"I spoke to the doctors, David. She'll be okay. She just needs a bit of time..." Neutral but placating words designed to throw David off balance for a second. Colby didn't need one of his friend's 'talks' right now. He just needed to do his job…

It didn't work. David frowned and touched Colby's arm, speaking in a very quiet but determined voice. "Can I talk to you a minute?" David led his friend gently by the arm to one side. He wanted this conversation to be between him and Colby only. The two Englishmen glanced at the Americans and then turned away, giving them the privacy David so obviously wanted. David glanced over at the Brits and then back to his friend, his voice low but urgent. "Col, I'm gonna lay on the line for ya, and I want you to answer me truthfully. Right now, I need to know if you're thinkin' clearly, bud. What's happened, it's freaked us all out. But what we _don't _need is you going on a one man Charles Bronson through the streets of LA in a blind rage…"

"Whoa, hang on David, just stop right there, bud." Colby held his hand up, his voice soft but hard. "Just _stop_, okay? Stop with the interrogation, stop with quoting Bureau fuckin' policy at me, stop assuming I'm outta control and _stop _fuckin' patronising me David, got it?" There was a barely contained fury in his eyes. "Yes, okay, I admit it, I'm _pissed, _David. More pissed than I've ever been in my life. And you have no _fuckin' idea _just how clearly that can make you think, buddy, _no fuckin' idea._ I have intel that's gonna blow the hell outta Langely and possibly cause a crap load of embarrassment up on Capital Hill, let alone here. But ya know something, David? I don't give a flying _fuck _about all that shit, bud, I really don't. What I _do _care about is stopping a cell of terrorists from slaughtering innocent people on the streets of LA, regardless who _who's _paying the checks. Me sitting at Dee's bedside ain't gonna get that done, buddy. This is how we are, man." He nodded across to the two Englishmen. "We're trained to leave our emotions outta the equation and get on with the damn job, David. And that's _precisely _what I intend to do. It's not my job to go sort out a bunch of corrupt politician sons of bitches in Washington and their fuckin' dirty laundry boys in Langely. It's my job to stop a lot of innocent people _right here_ from dying. That's _our _job, David. The rest can wait. Now. Are we _good _here?" The last four words were hard and passionate, but with an almost desperate, pleading undertone. Colby so wanted David to understand. To trust him. To _help _him…

David gripped Colby's shoulder firmly and smiled. "We're good, brother."

Colby's penetrating gaze locked into David's eyes for a brief second longer and then he suddenly stepped back and nodded. "Okay then." He looked towards the two Brits. "Guys…"

Micky and Andy immediately turned and as one answered. "Guv?"

"Micky, you need to get some sleep. Andy, you're with us, buddy. Let's go. We've got work to do…"

"I'm already signed out." Micky interrupted the American and stood up stiffly, a dark determination in his eyes. "Comin' with, Guv."

"Bullshit, Micky. You rest. That's an order."

"With respect Guv, fuck that." Micky grinned, but couldn't completely mask the pain. "I might not be able to kick in any doors for a few days, but I can operate comms better than the FBI's entire legion of rank amateurs, mate. And I've got access to stuff that'd make their damn hair curl. Plus, yer gonna need me to work with the professor on busting a few algorithms. I can do all that from the relative safety and comfort of a computer desk and the FBI's fancypants offices. So you just try stopping me and I'll kick your fat Yankie arse to bleedin' Idaho and back, shrapnel wounds or no bloody shrapnel wounds! Like I said, Guv. With respect."

Colby stared briefly at the Englishman and then glanced down at the canteen table next to him. His fingers closed around a ketchup bottle and he looked up, a small smile on his face. "Really? Uh-huh…" He toyed with the bottle, that enigmatic smile still on his lips. "So how good do you think your reactions are right now, Mick? Huh?" He looked up.

"Good enough, Guv."

"You're sharp?"

"I'm sharp, Guv." Micky looked even more determined.

"Really?" The smile didn't leave Colby's lips. "Okay then. _Catch!_" His hand flipped up and he tossed the ketchup bottle through the air. Andy instinctively ducked, his lightning reflexes dropping him to a crouching position out of the path of the spinning bottle. Micky looked momentarily surprised and fumbled to catch the bottle. His fingertips missed it by millimetres. The bottle dropped to the floor and shattered, the thick red sauce squirting out across the floor in globules. Micky looked down at the bottle and swore quietly.

"Bugger…"

"Not fast enough, Micky, sorry bud. Even _with _a head's up." Colby leaned nonchalantly against the doorframe, the smile melting from his lips. "I need you on top of your game, Mick. So here's the deal. And I ain't in a mood to negotiate right now, pal, so you answer back I'll aim the next goddamn bottle straight at your thick head, got it? You need to rest. You rest for a minimum of four hours. Then you call me, I get a car to come pick you up and you get your ass over to the FBI and I'll put you to work. _After _you've got some rest. That's a fuckin' _direct order_, Micky, are we clear?"

"Yes sir."

Colby smiled gently. "Wow. Well, _that _was easier than I thought it was gonna be. I thought I was gonna have to poleaxe you! You must be getting soft in your old age, Coxy. Want me to come tuck you in, sleepy head?"

"Fuck off, Guv."

Colby briefly grinned at the man. "See you in a few hours, buddy." He glanced down at the ketchup mess on the floor. "Oh, and clean that up before you crash, Cox. You dropped it, you clean it."

David stared in disbelief at his friend, struggling to work out what the hell had just happened. He realised suddenly that it was their way of proving a point. He chuckled to himself and shook his head.

Colby nodded at Andy and without any further words, turned abruptly and walked out of the canteen…

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Nikki's head pounded. Three weeks in and she'd already been shot at and blown up. She was starting to get an idea of just how different things were around here compared to LAPD. But a nagging voice in the back of her mind told her that there was much more to all this team than just dealing with violent crimes. Granger especially. She had assumed, as everyone did initially, that he was just this laid back country boy, easy to get on with, easy to like and perhaps not the sharpest pencil in the case. She was starting to realise that particular assumption was _way _off base…

The lift doors pinged and slid quietly open. Nikki glanced up and straight into two green, intense eyes. Granger was back. And boy, did he look _pissed..._

Don glanced up from his desk and smiled. He had his team back at last. Ignoring the aches and sharp pains from his bruises, he stood up fluidly and embraced Colby. "Welcome back, brother." He gripped the man by the shoulders and studied him.

"If you ask me if I'm okay, I'll kill you where you stand." A small smile flickered across Colby's face. It was enough for Don. He knew he didn't need to ask him if he was okay. Colby was fine. For now…

"Dee?"

"She's on a time out."

Don could hear the sadness in the man's voice. He patted Colby's shoulder gently. "So we find them, Col. We find them and we bring them to justice, right?"

"That's why I'm here, bud." Colby sighed. We got a desk Andy can use?" He nodded over to the powerful man standing next to David. "Andy, this is Don Eppes. My boss. Don, this is Andy Thompson. Regiment." Don knew what 'Regiment' meant. He nodded and held out a hand towards Andy. The Englishman gripped it firmly and shook once, businesslike but friendly.

"Pleasure to meet you, Eppes. Your reputation precedes you."

"Likewise. Any help is welcome. David, find Andy a desk, would you? Col? You got a minute?"

Colby nodded and followed his boss into the war room, shutting the door softly behind them. Don turned and studied the man. Colby braced himself for yet another 'how are you' conversation he _really _didn't want to have right now…

It didn't come. "Nikki's doing a deep background into O'Neils. We've had the report from your end and we're marrying up the two sources of intelligence together. Charlie's with us in," he glanced at his watch, "a couple hours. I want him and Micky to work on the possible links, ya know, do one of his…" Don waved his hand in the air, searching for the right terminology. "What do you call 'em, social network analysis charts. We need to start joining the dots, bud."

Colby relaxed slightly. Don wanted a private briefing. A one on one. Colby knew perfectly well how he responded to this briefing would determine whether Don allowed him to continue working on the case. If Don felt the junior agent was too emotionally unstable, he'd be sidelined. That's what made Don such an effective team leader. He could read every single one of his people like a book… He nodded and crossed his arms over his chest. "Tyler?"

"We're trying to track him. David's doing a phone dump on his cell and credit cards. We'll find him, Col." Don frowned. "Wanna tell me who's side he's on?"

"I don't know. But I'll get a deep background on him from Washington."

"You got people you can trust that end, bud?"

"Yeah." Colby nodded. "I have. Leave it with me. In the meantime, we need to check on any recent activity from known IRA sympathisers. Arms dealers with connections to both the Irish republic and Libya."

"Why Libya?"

"Libya and the IRA had connections going back thirty years, buddy. Times and causes may change, but human nature don't, Don. Take away a terrorist's reason to fight and they get bored. That's why the Brits have been having a few problems again in Ireland over the past couple of years. Nothing like it used to be, but their security people are all over it again, trying to nip it in the bud before it generates a crap load more trouble. But Ireland isn't a target for Bin Laden and his boys, we are. They know perfectly well there's still a lot of support over here for the Irish situation, even though the IRA are defunct as an organisation. The network is still in place, Don, of a sort. So they've piggybacked off it. The right contact tipping off some sworn enemies of the Regiment that two of their biggest players are currently sitting in a café having waffles and bacon and you got yourself a stationary target that's in range. You guys and the two victims were collateral damage, bud, I'm sorry. The bombing spreads panic, and we've suddenly got a fuckin' war going on here on all sides."

"So how do we stop it, Col? How the hell do we stop this from blowing up in our faces into a full-on goddamn meltdown?"

"Remember when Amita was kidnapped by Mason Duryea? Remember those burrs he made outta wood?"

"Yeah? So?"

"Remember how every piece was crucial to how the puzzle fitted together? All you had to do was remove one part, the whole damn thing fell apart." Colby's green eyes were intense. "We have a key piece, Don. We know Tyler's a link pin in this whole goddamn burr. We need Tyler. If we can get our hands on him, I know I can get him to talk…"

The door opened and David poked his head in. "We've got a location on Tyler."

Colby smiled lazily. The smile chilled Don to his marrow…

_**TBC…**_


	18. All Things To All Men

Disclaimer

Right, you lot. We all know the words by now, so I want everyone over this side to say the 'yada yada' bit and everyone over _this _side to say 'blah blah' okay? Got it? Ready? One, two three, aaaaaaaaaaaand…

I do not own anything to do with Numb3rs – yada yada – (man, that was _pathetic!_) but the Brit-pack and the story are mine all mine – blah blah –

(BEAT)

Ooookay then, so much for audience participation. Wow. _Tough _crowd…

Usual warning for violence and bad language applies, and many thanks to Jelsemium over at the Calling All Authors forum for her help on the colloquialisms – cheers J, much appreciated!

Roll credits and wonky Numb3rs board…

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"Nikki, I want you concentrating on O'Neils. Work with Micky when he gets here. See what you can link up with their intel. I wanna know everything about that nest of yellowjackets, okay? Get a rush warrant." Don's face was serious as he reached into the desk drawer and pulled out his gun.

"Is Micky okay?" Nikki's voice had a tinge of concern in it. "Only when I saw him last he looked pretty beat up…"

"Micky's fine. He's grabbing some shut-eye and then make sure a car picks him up from the hospital and gets him over here." Colby flashed a brief smile at the 'new guy', as David insisted on calling her. "And Nikki?"

"Yeah?"

"Um, listen, if the hospital calls, ya know, about Dee…"

Nikki smiled kindly at Colby. She knew how worried he was and laid a timid hand on his arm. Her voice was surprisingly gentle. "I promise I'll let you know straight away." Colby nodded his thanks. Every time he let himself think about Dee, he could feel that crushing pressure fill him, almost choking him. He sniffed sharply and focused on his gun, pulling back the chamber and checking the action, doing _anything _to avoid looking at Nikki and showing her just how helpless he felt right now…

"Pull Tommy in. He's a good tech and he's got an eye for detail. And liase with Charlie. Give him everything, Nikki. As he always says, more data is a good thing." David clipped his badge to his belt and straightened his jacket.

"Where do you want me, Guv?" Andy's voice was calm, the question directed at his 'Guv', Colby. The big American gave Andy a dark smile.

"You're with me, buddy. Ridealong."

"Shotgun!"

"Dude, we don't call shotgun here."

"That's bollocks. Besides, I get car sick in the back."

"You were fine in…" Colby stopped himself just in time, remembering that there were civilians around who didn't have the clearance to know where he'd spent the last few days.

Andy grinned. "Trust me, once you got behind the bloody wheel? I was feelin' sicker than a Marine on his first boat trip, mate!" Andy reached behind his back and pulled out a Browning 9mm automatic pistol.

David scowled as he saw the heavy handgun appear in Andy's hand. "How in the hell did you manage to get _that _past customs at the airport, Andy?"

"Who said anything about going through customs?" Andy tapped the clip on the barrel and slotted it back into the handstock. He casually pushed the powerful gun back into his belt and adjusted his jacket to cover it. He looked up and flashed David a sudden, bright grin.

"Remind me to have a word with our friends at border control when all this is over…" Don shook his head and chuckled quietly to himself but then glanced sternly at Andy. "You follow in behind, Andy. This is our patch, okay buddy? I don't wanna see that gun in your hand unless I say so."

"Copy that."

Don couldn't help noticing the tiny glance Andy gave Colby and the almost imperceptible nod of confirmation that his agent gave the Brit. He may have agreed to follow Don's orders, but it was mere lip service. Andy took his orders from Colby…

"Let's go."

The four men headed towards the elevator. Nikki watched their retreating backs, once again feeling left out of the loop. As they turned in the tight space, her gaze locked with Colby. She gave him a reassuring smile. He didn't respond but the look in his eyes told her he had seen her smile and appreciated the sentiment. The doors slid closed and the men were gone. Nikki sighed quietly and sat down, focusing on digging out every dirty little secret that O'Neils Demolition was hiding…

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Colby sat in the front passenger seat as David navigated his way through the LA traffic towards McArthur Park. Around him, the good people of Los Angeles went about their daily lives, unaware of the drama unfolding right in their mists. Blessed ignorance kept them from panicking. If they only knew…

David glanced in the rear view mirror, a small frown creasing his brow. He looked back at the traffic and then again in the mirror. Colby noticed the flickering gaze of his partner. "Problem?"

"I think we got company."

Colby glanced in the wing mirror. Behind them trundled an innocuous black SUV, the windows darkened and impenetrable. Colby frowned and flipped open his phone. "Granger. Get me a trace on a plate would you? California licence number seven twenty six, David, Edward, Mike." He paused, waiting for the response. When it came, the frown deepened. "Thanks."

"Col?"

"Give me a minute, Don…" Colby busily dialled another number and waited. "Granger. Bravo Zulu two zero three three one seven one. Put me through to Lawrence."

Don frowned. He had heard that identity number before – when Colby had been handed his orders by the army courier a few days before. He listened intently…

"Lawrence, it's Colby." Colby's voice was sharp and clipped. "Wanna tell me what the hell your boys are doin' tailing my ass?" Colby scowled angrily as he listened to the reply. "Waddya mean, they ain't your people? Well buddy, the plate comes back to your department, pal! I don't give a crap _what _your orders are. I'm tired, I'm jetlagged, I'm _not _in a good mood right now and we're slap-bang in the middle of an _FBI _operation here that is _nothing _to do with you guys so get them to _back the fuck off_!" Colby snapped the phone shut and then glanced again in the mirror. The SUV suddenly turned off into a side street and disappeared. Colby sat back, his face expressionless. David glanced over and grinned.

"Man, you can be seriously scary at times, you know that?"

"It's all in the voice, buddy." Colby looked at his partner and flashed a small, humourless smile.

"Who were those bozos, Col?" Don didn't like being left out of the loop, especially right in the middle of an operation.

"Just the usual half-assed amateurs from Langley, Don. Of course, they claim that they're nothin' to do with them, but frankly, apart from the three people in this car, I ain't trustin' a word that comes out of anyone else's mouth right now. Anyhoo, they're off our case now. Nothin' to worry about."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. Priorities, Don. They've gone, therefore they are no longer a priority. They come _back_, I'll bump them up the things to do list."

"That's not standard procedure, Col…"

"You see 'em?"

Don glanced backwards. The SUV had gone. "No."

"Sweet. Like I said. Nothin' to worry about."

"Colby…" There was a warning note in Don's voice.

Colby shifted in his seat and turned to face his boss, one powerful arm draped over the headrest. "Don, look. What we're involved in right now? There's a _lotta _people who are really keen to try and muscle in, possibly even to try and stop us. I don't know who set them on our tail but I _do _know how to get them off. At least for a while. These guys don't like it when you call their bluff. By telling Lawrence I was on to him, it makes him and his goons exposed. They don't like that," Colby paused and looked thoughtful. "Actually? The way those guys avoid sunlight? I seriously suspect they're goddamn vampires, buddy." He held up a hand before Don could issue a sharp reprimand for his flippancy. "What I'm sayin', Don, is that as soon as you call 'em out, they back off. That's _their _standard procedure. You get burned on a tail, you back off. But trust me, we haven't seen the last of them. We're gonna get tailed twenty four seven until this is over. If I can get them to back off a bit as and when, it'll give us some room to manoeuvre. I was figuring that's what you'd want, right?"

The last sentence was almost an apology. Colby was looking to Don for confirmation that he had acted in the best interest of the team, even if it meant throwing out the playbook and resorting back to his covert operations training. Despite that, Don knew that Colby still wanted his approval. He wanted to do everything right. He wanted to prove to Don that his instincts were sharp. Maybe he even wanted to prove to himself that he was still on top of his game right now, because exhaustion and the disorientating effects of jet lag were seriously starting to kick in. And no matter how hard he tried to suppress it, that crushing worry for Diane was always hovering in the background, ready to overwhelm him the second he let his defences down.

Don gave Colby a reassuring smile. This was Colby's play. In every other situation, the big man always looked to Don or David to lead the way. But this? It was his area of expertise. Yet still Colby looked to him for confirmation. Sometimes he wondered where the younger man's lack of self-confidence came from. Perhaps it did go back to his childhood and his constant yearning to prove himself worthy to the authority figure of his father. Who knew for certain? Only Colby himself, probably. But it gave Don a certain amount of reassurance himself that the man was truly committed to being part of _his _team, and not on some lone gunman mission. He nodded at Colby, the smile warm and genuine. "Good call, buddy."

Colby swallowed nervously and flashed a smile back. "Okay. Just add it to the pile of crap we have to deal with later on."

David swung the car into the parking lot and killed the engine. He unclipped his seat belt and shifted around to face the men in the back. "Tyler's been making calls all morning. We managed to pinpoint his location to the park, last known was the old community centre at the north end."

"They're still rebuilding that place. Plenty of quiet places for a spook on the run to hide, right Col?" Don grinned at his agent.

For the first time since his return, Colby gave Don a genuinely warm smile. He appreciated the gentle dig from his boss. It meant Don was handing the reigns over to him. He trusted him. He nodded. "Yeah. Us spooks, we just love us a nice, hard to defend open target like this! Seriously man, it's a _dumb-assed_ move on his part, Don! We know the layout of that place already. He _must've _known it wouldn't be long before we found him! He's getting sloppy." He nodded to Andy. "Okay, bud, standard urban theatre. Two doors on the back and the main front entrance." Andy nodded in response.

"Understood."

"David and I'll take the back. You go in front with Andy." Don checked his gun one last time and glanced at his watch.

"Okay. Watch yourselves, guys. Tyler's highly trained and dangerous. Don't underestimate him." Colby grabbed a bulletproof vest and opened the passenger door.

Andy deftly caught the extra Kevlar vest that Colby tossed to him, still running an expert eye over the building. "Yeah. And watch out for the terrain too, lads. That place looks as rotten as a bloody pear."

Colby quietly smiled at the term 'lads'. Andy was treating the two FBI agents as fellow soldiers. The SAS were used to working in four-man teams and the Brit was in his element. It also showed he had a level of respect already for the two American agents. The four men walked quickly towards the dilapidated building, ignoring the joggers, dog walkers and skaters that were oblivious to their presence. Don and David peeled off and Colby motioned to Andy to follow his lead.

The building was shrouded in shadows. A musty, damp smell permeated the air, the odour of dry rot and flaking paint giving the shell of a building an almost Gothic feel. The stairwell led up to the third floor where the individual rooms became smaller and more dingy. They had been here before and knew the layout of the building intimately. Colby peered into the gloom and indicated to Andy to keep his eyes open. Tyler was a Marine. The man had his own skills set that Colby really didn't feel inclined to have to counter in a full-on confrontation. The jet lag was making him feel woolly-headed and he didn't trust his instincts 100% right now…

A slight sound from the floor above made him immediately glance up. A cascade of dust filtered down. Someone was moving about up there…

Gingerly, so as not to make any sound and alert the man to their presence, Colby and Andy crept up the stairs, padding like cats and measuring each footstep carefully so as not to set any old floorboards creaking. Colby rounded the top of the stairwell and a corridor stretched out in front of him, doors on both sides. He swore silently. The more ingresses they had to do, the greater the chance that Tyler would hear them and be waiting when they finally came through the right door. Don and David appeared silently at the other end of the corridor. Suddenly, Colby could hear a muffled voice from behind one of the doors. He held up a fist and the three other men froze as Colby listened intently to pinpoint the source of the sound. It was Tyler. Colby indicated to a door half way along the corridor with the nose of his A1 and the four men took up position, ready to move in. David took a step back, ready to kick the door open but Colby held up his hand and shook his head. Not yet… David carefully lowered his foot back down and nodded. Whoever Tyler was on the phone to, David realised instantly that Colby didn't want to let them know they were on to the man.

"Look, I don't _know_, okay? All I wanna know is where she is, you bastard!" Another pause… "Oh, don't give me that crap, Burkess, you know perfectly well! She's _nothing _to do with this! NOTHING!" There was another pause and then Tyler's voice could be heard again, this time resignation clearly audible in his tone. "Okay, okay. I get it. But you hurt her, you son of a bitch and I swear to _God_…" Colby heard the phone snap shut. He nodded to David, who recoiled back and let lose a hard kick right on the point of the lock. The door exploded back into the room, slamming against the wall on the other side and shuddering, its hinges groaning with the strain.

Tyler spun around, a Glock in his hand, to be faced with a snarling Colby Granger. "HANDS! LEMME SEE YOUR HANDS, TYLER!" Immediately, Tyler pulled the gun up and raised his hands.

"Jesus, Granger thank _fuck_ it's you!" The look of genuine relief was tempered with nervousness as he saw the weapons in the hands of the four men. "Whoa, hold on there, guys, don't shoot, okay? Don't shoot! I'm gonna put the gun down…"

"Move one _single _muscle and I'll put a bullet right between your eyes, Mark!" Colby sniffed sharply, a warning sign that David immediately recognised. Colby wasn't in a particularly forgiving mood right now and his green eyes watched Tyler like a hawk. David moved around his partner and behind Tyler, taking the Glock out of his hand and pulling one arm down behind the man's back. The cuff clicked into place and he pulled the other arm down to slot the second cuff over the man's wrist. Tyler glanced behind him and then back at Granger.

"Okay, man, not moving, okay? Not resisting, doin' everything just like you say. You really need to keep that A1 pointin' at me, buddy?"

"It kinda gives me a warm, fuzzy feelin' inside, Tyler. And right now? I _ain't _your buddy." Colby slowly lowered the gun and took a step forward. "Who were you talkin' to, Mark?"

"Nobody. Must've been someone outside. Sound travels funny in these old places, man…"

Colby moved again, coming to a stop a few millimetres in front of the man. He stared hard at the nervous man, his face expressionless. "Let's try that again, shall we? _Who were you talkin' to, Mark?"_

"Nobo…"

"_Who_, Mark? Was it Walter Burkess? Huh?"

"I…how do you know that?" Tyler was taken back – how could Colby possibly know about Burkess?

"You hidin' out here, buddy?" Don kicked casually at a hold-all on the floor, taking in the signs scattered around the room that someone had been sleeping rough in the condemned building. He glanced up and stared hard at Tyler. "How long did you reckon it was gonna be before someone found you?"

"Long enough."

"Meaning?" Don raised an eyebrow.

"Meaning I didn't think it'd be Granger kicking the door in." He turned and looked directly at Colby. "You gotta help me, Granger. Please. You gotta help me, man!" The man sounded desperate.

"Really?" Colby put a hand on the man's chest and pushed hard. With his hands cuffed behind his back, Tyler couldn't maintain his balance and stumbled backwards, dropping heavily onto a camp bed. David crouched in front of the holdall and unzipped it, letting his friend take the lead on the on-the-spot interrogation. "So who did you think would be kicking the door in, if not me? Huh?"

"I thought you were still in…ya know, _over there.._." Tyler looked up at the man. "Look Granger, remember six months ago in that clearing with Miller, you asked me to trust you and I did? Well, now I need you to do the same for me."

"All outta trust here, my friend."

"Please! Look, I don't give a crap about myself. But…" His voice dropped and he paused before carrying on. "Bud, there's other lives at stake here…"

"Yeah. The lives of a crap-load of innocent people who could be _this _close to dying in a major terrorist attack unless you start talking to us, Tyler." Don put his gun away and stood shoulder to shoulder with Colby. He glanced over at his friend. "Waddya say Col? Should we take him out the front way or the back?" Don smiled benignly at the cuffed man.

"What, ya mean in full sight of anyone who may have decided to follow us after all in a big, shiny, blacked out SUV with government plates on that we may have unwittingly led right to him?" Colby grinned nastily at Tyler. "Could be chancy, Don. Ya know. Snipers and all."

"Question is, is this dumb-assed son of a bitch worth keeping alive?"

"Ya know bud, that very self same question was goin' through my mind. Let's face it, we've been fed a bunch of crap so far, could be that Tyler here is just another dead end who ain't worth the price of a pair of cuffs." He studied the nervous man. The 'good cop, bad cop' routine was working on the man. Colby shifted his weight in front of Tyler and Tyler leaned back, the wave of intimidation coming from the big man unnerving him. Colby smiled quietly and spoke directly at Tyler. "Unless, of course, he could convince me otherwise. Then? Well, I guess we could extract him quietly and get him safely back to the bullpen. Waddya say, Tyler? Feel like convincing me and my boss here that your life's _worth a crap_?"

"It ain't. I know that. My life _ain't _worth a crap, Granger. I've known that for the last few days, bud. But Louise? She…she has nothing to do with this, Colby, _nothing_…"

"Louise?" Don frowned.

Granger glanced at his boss. "His sister. She was White's secretary, planted by Counter Intelligence, remember? It's a kinda family business, isn't it Mark?" Colby refocused back on Tyler and he crouched in front of the man. His voice softened as he spoke urgently and quickly, but Tyler couldn't help noticing that the A1 pistol was still held loosely in Colby's hand... "Okay, buddy. I'm listening. Talk to me. Who is Burkess? Has he got Louise?"

Tyler swallowed nervously and glanced around the room. His eyes rested on Andy Thompson. The Englishman studied him intently, a Browning 9mm held loosely but confidently in his hands in exactly the same way that Colby held his gun. Tyler could see that the man was a professional. The penetrating gaze from the powerfully built man was intense and Tyler frowned. "Wait…Who's he?"

Colby glanced over his shoulder at the Englishman and then turned back to Tyler. "Him? Oh, he's nobody you need to worry about right now, bud."

"Yeah?" Tyler frowned deeper, his eyes never leaving Andy. "So how come I'm getting this weird fuckin' feelin' of déjà vu?" He peered more closely at the man. "Where do I know you from, pal?"

"You don't." Andy voice was flat, cold and didn't invite any further conversation. He shifted his weight and his fingers curled around the handle of his Browning just a fraction tighter…

"Hey, Mark?" Colby waved a hand in front of the man's face. "Wanna focus on me here, bud?"

Don turned to Andy and spoke quietly. "Andy, wanna give us a minute here, would you? Check outside, make sure our government friends ain't in the neighbourhood, okay?"

Andy nodded curtly and turned away, pulling the tattered door closed behind him. Don turned back and watched Colby, waiting for some kind of an explanation from the former Marine who still sat cuffed on the camp bed.

"Yo, Mark, hey! I said _focus_." Colby snapped his fingers sharply and Tyler's attention immediately shifted back to the big man in front of him. "Burkess has Louise, right?" Tyler nodded. "Why?"

"I…I didn't like the way things were going, Granger. What they were doing? It was _wrong_, man, _real_ wrong. I mean, Jesus Christ, we're supposed to be hunting these bastards _down_, not friggin' _working _with the scumbags! I told Burkess I wanted out. Right out. Especially when I heard he'd gotten you guys involved. That's not right, man, sending you all the way over there, riskin' your life just to bring a bunch of dis-information back? Why go to all that trouble? So I told him. No more. I quit the agency, Granger. Threw my badge at the bastard and walked out the doors. He told me I was too deep in and that I couldn't quit. I told him to go fuck himself and that I wanted no more part in any of it. He…"

"So he grabbed your sister, told you to play ball or she gets hurt, right?" Colby nodded. "Okay, but that still don't tell me who this Burkess is, man."

"He's old school, Col. Ya know. Pretty damn high up in the Agency. Really misses the days of what he called_ real _spying. He hates Obama and the whole new broom shit that's going through the Agency. Hates it with a passion. He damn near had an aneurysm when they announced they were shutting Gitmo, buddy. You should've seen him, man, seriously. I swear to God the nutjob was literally frothing at the mouth!" He leaned forward. "Trouble is, he's got friends. Friends who are scared that they can't control Capital Hill like they used to. Col, Washington right now is one dangerous place to be, buddy. _Real _dangerous. These people ain't afraid to go all out to get what they want."

"What do they want, Mark?"

"The good ol' days, Col. They want the good ol' days back. They're scared Obama's gonna pull all their teeth out. They know that the Christmas Day bomber was a big embarrassment to Washington. The public disquiet fitted in with their plans, man. A lotta people start asking awkward questions and trust me buddy, there's a _lot _of skeletons in DC filing cabinets, buddy! Skeletons they don't want brought out into the open. So they figure the best way to cover their tracks is to cause as much chaos as they can with a real high public profile terrorist event. Nine Eleven stuff, Colby. You know how everyone thinks that there's these crazy conspiracy theories out there that Nine Eleven was actually a government plot to justify us going into Iraq a second time?" He sat back. "Yeah, well, not every conspiracy theory's a crock, bud. Nine Eleven was real enough. But what they've got planned this time? It's designed to destabilise the administration so they can start pushing their own agenda again. We're losing Afghanistan, man, you know that. The tactics out there ain't working. And the more of our guys come home in body bags, the more the public are gonna start calling for us to withdraw. We do that, we're all fucked, but try explaining that to Jo Doe in Idaho and he won't believe you. So they figured, if you can't get people to understand just why it's so important we're out there, then the next best thing is to bring things a little closer to home. Ask yourself buddy. What's the best way to get public support where you want it?"

"Hit mainland America with a supposedly terrorist plot, and make people _scared_." David sounded thoughtful. "You serious with this shit, Mark?"

"You have no goddamn idea _how _serious, Sinclair." Mark's voice was filled with passion. "They've got something really big planned, guys. _Really _big. Right here in LA. But they ain't just going for a big bang, one-shot payday kinda thing. They wanna make sure that the public's softened up a bit first. Get them nervous and jumpy. Attack targets and get the Feds running all over the place. Make you guys look like you ain't in control. Then, when people are getting bombed, gang wars kick off with heavy ordnance, they hit with the big one. They're calling in favours all over the damn place. Freelancers, arms dealers, the old Irish crews, fundamentalists, Militia groups, bike gangs, the whole nine yards. These bastards are all things to all men and they're _playin' _every damn one of us so they can get their goddamn _budgets _increased and tear up the freakin' Constitution, Col! They really mean to do it!"

"Why in the hell didn't you just get in touch with me? Why let them go through all this cloak and dagger crap? And why the _fuck _send me over to Kosovo?"

"They're scared of you, Colby. _Real _scared. You have this real nasty habit of digging out the truth. They figured that you wouldn't get out of…" Tyler paused, glancing across at Don and David.

Colby spoke quietly. "It's okay. They know."

Tyler focused back on Colby and continued. "They figured you wouldn't get out of Kosovo alive, man. They had to send you into a situation that was so politically untenable and a complete suicide mission so they could deny any responsibility whatsoever that they knew about the operation. They brought the Brits in so if there _was _any fallout, they could point the finger at London. Deniability, buddy, deniability! The training camp was real and you taking it out did them a favour. As a sideline, ya know? To keep up the pretence that they're on our side. Ya know. Protecting the American people, yada fuckin' yada! But they were _real _pissed when you turned up alive, man. _Real _pissed. You weren't supposed to get out of there, buddy. You hit them early. They were expecting another twelve hours before you hit the camp. The last thing they expected was for you to go in underground! They were in the process of flooding the whole area with their people when you blew the shit outta the place. Whoever was co-ordinating your egress? Well, _that _bit was out of their control. Someone overrode their command protocol and once they'd contacted their people on the ground, you were already out. Kinda backfired on them, using the Brits, but hey, I'm glad they did..." Mark stopped and frowned. "_That's _where I know that guy from!"

"Who, Andy? Yeah, he's one of the Brit's guys. Special Forces…"

Tyler shook his head. "Nono, I mean, yeah, I know he's one of their people, but he ain't just Special Forces, buddy."

Colby's eyes hardened. "What?"

"He's…"

"Smoke. I smell smoke…" David's voice interrupted the cuffed man and they all stopped suddenly, sniffing…

"Fire!" Don ran to the door and reached for the handle…

"STOP!" Colby sprang up and placed the flat of his hand flat on the door. "Feel that?" Don placed his hand against the flat surface. It was hot… From behind the wood a muffled roaring could be heard. "You open that door and the rush of oxygen'll cause a flashover! We'd all be dead in a heartbeat, buddy. Fire escape. GO!" Don and David sprinted to the window as Colby hauled Tyler to his feet. He reached behind Tyler and fumbled with the cuffs. He wanted Tyler alive. If they were to have any chance of getting out of the building, he had to trust the man. As he pushed the key into the lock of the cuffs, he leaned in close to Tyler's ear, his words hissing with quiet menace. "Help me and I'll help you and Louise. Double-cross me and I'll _kill_ you. _Understand_?" He pulled back, his green eyes boring into Tyler for a second. Tyler held his gaze and then suddenly bent down and scooped up the holdall from the floor. As he straightened up, he looked Colby straight in the eye and answered him quietly.

"I'm probably the only person you can really trust right now, Granger. I'm on your side. You have to believe that!"

"Yeah? We'll talk about that later. But right now? We've gotta get out." He glanced towards the door. The first wisps of smoke were curling under the gap at the bottom of the doorframe. "RIGHT NOW!"

At the window, Don and David were struggling to open the rusting frame. "It won't move!_" _David gritted his teeth and hauled again, but the frame had long ago fused solid. David felt the metal start to crumble in his grip and yelped as a fingernail tore below the quick, sending a sharp wave of needle-like pain up his hand.

"BACK UP!" Tyler swung around and grabbed a heavy chair. The three men dived out of the way as Tyler hurled the chair through the window, shattering the glass and sending it cascading down to the tarmac below. They were on the fourth floor of the dilapidated building, a good thirty feet up from the ground. The high arched window led out onto a fire escape and Don scrambled carefully past the jagged shards of glass still attached to the frame. David followed him, picking his way past the glass and putting one foot onto the metal platform. Don reached down to release the escape. The stairs dropped a few inches, gaining momentum as the weight of the metal allowed gravity to kick in.

But they didn't stop. The stairs slid down the runners and detached at the bottom, crashing to the ground below and sending up a cloud of dust. The rusting metal's progress down the frame had sent confetti-like petals of rotten iron floating down. The main body of the fire escape groaned and creaked ominously, the bolts holding it to the wall pulling away from the crumbling brickwork and popping out like rotten teeth.

"DON!"

David felt the platform shift under his feet. He grabbed wildly backwards and felt a strong grip grab his wrist. Colby and Tyler were still in the room, and it was his partner who had clamped onto his wrist. David stretched out his hand towards Don…

Don wildly tried to keep his balance as the ancient fire escape started to collapse under his feet. He knew that if he fell with it, there would be a damn good chance that he would be impaled on the twisted wreckage of metal beneath him. He reached towards David, his fingertips just brushing his friend's…

With a final metallic scream, the fire escape parted company with the side of the building. David felt momentarily weightless. He roared with effort and stretched those last few centimetres, catching hold of Don's hand and locking his fingers around his boss's wrist as the fire escape dropped away leaving them hanging in mid-air…

"I GOT YA!"

At the same time, he felt a hard pull on his own wrist as Colby took the strain of two men's weight. He glanced up at his friend. Colby's teeth were gritted as he strained to hold both men, his body braced and the massive muscles on his arms bulging. David felt the weight of Don in his right hand. His arm felt like it was about to be pulled out of its socket, that every joint was on the verge of disconnecting and loosening the grip he had on his boss's wrist. He knew that if he let go now, Don would plummet to his death…

At that moment, a second hand grabbed his wrist. Tyler and Colby both hauled hard, dragging both David and Don up the side of the building. As David was pulled level with the window frame, Tyler let go and stretched his arm down past him, straining to reach Don.

"GIVE ME YOUR OTHER HAND, DON!" Tyler held his hand out and Don grunted with effort, swinging his arm up to try and catch hold of Tyler. He missed. His arm swung back down and he tried again, this time throwing his whole body into the move…

Tyler caught the outstretched man's hand and grabbed, his fingers turning white with the force of the grip he wrapped around Don's hand. David felt Colby's other hand grab the back of his jacket and he was hauled in through the window, still holding on to Don.

"I'VE GOT HIM! LET GO, DAVID, I'VE GOT HIM!" Tyler yelled the words – the roar of the fire was becoming louder and smoke was billowing under the door…

David could feel the acrid sting of the smoke in his nostrils, causing him to gag and choke. Colby was frantically running water from an old sink faucet over the ripped sheets from Tyler's camp bed. He scooped the sodden sheets up and sprinted to the door, blocking the gap with the wet cloth. "NINE ONE ONE, DAVID! FOR GOD'S SAKE! WE NEED A FIRE RIG HERE NOW!"

Don finally made it to the window frame and felt Tyler's other hand help him in the same way that Colby had hauled David in.

They were all back in the room. On one side of the fragile, smouldering door roared an inferno that was starting to engulf the entire floor of the old community centre. Thirty feet below them lay the twisted wreckage of the rotten fire escape.

There was no way out…

_**TBC….**_


	19. Regroup

Disclaimer

Ah, c'mon, you _MUST _know the drill by now, surely! What, _seriously_? Oh, alrighty then, if you insist…

I do not have any claim over Numb3rs or the regular characters. Them belongy Nick and Cheryl. I do, however, own the story, the Brit-pack characters and therefore am wholly responsible for the unintelligible Cockney slang and British gibberish that'll probably confuse the buggery out of anyone who isn't from Mile End or Hackney.

Usual bad language/violence warning applies.

Roll credits and wonky Numb3rs board…

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The scream of fire trucks resounded around the park. The clouds of acrid black smoke pouring out of the third floor windows had alerted passing joggers to the situation and, being the good people that they were, they had called 911.

The trucks couldn't arrive quickly enough for the four men trapped in a room that was rapidly filling with lung-burning smoke. The roar of the inferno on the other side of the door sounded like an express train hurtling through a station. David coughed frantically and desperately looked around the room for some means of escape. The camp bed was bare – stripped of its sheets by Colby in a desperate attempt to slow down the encroachment of a cloud of smoke that he knew would kill them all if they didn't get out quickly. It wasn't the flames that got you first – it was the choking smoke that would fill your lungs like water, drowning you peacefully and lethally in a sea of carbon monoxide.

Colby was frantically trying to block the gap under the door, forcing the wet ragged sheets against the hot wood. Curls of smoke twirled around him, dancing lazily in the thick air, hypnotic and mesmerising. He turned away from the door and looked straight at Mark Tyler. "Tell me you've got a rope in that rucksack, man! Anything!"

"Sorry bud!" Mark doubled over, the smoke filling his lungs and causing him to cough violently. Colby turned back, checking that he'd done as much as he could to slow the progress of the smoke down, but the acrid fumes from the melting paint on the door caught at his throat and he dissolved into a wracking spasm of coughing. He had to get away from the smoke…

Don stood choking at the window, watching the chaos below him as a crowd started to gather. He could see some of them running in different directions, desperately looking for a ladder to help the trapped men escape the inferno. He shouted down to them to get back – masonry was already beginning to drop from the building and crash down below, sending up lethal shards of brickwork and clouds of dust.

"HEY BUD! WE GOT A LADDER! CATCH THE END!" A man called up to Don, waving frantically to his right as two other men jogged around the corner carrying a workman's ladder. They braved the falling masonry and thick black smoke, dodging the twisted metal of the rusting fire escape and hauling pieces of the crumbling metalwork out of the way. The men steadied the ladder and guided it towards the open window and David and Don's waiting hands. Don's fingers curled around the end of the ladder and he pulled it towards him, steadying the top against the window frame.

"OK! WE GOT IT!" He motioned to David. "GO!" David glanced back at Colby, who was doubled up and choking, fighting for breath. He felt Don's hand give him a hard shove on the shoulder. "GO! NOW!" David scrambled out onto the ladder and began the shaky descent to the ground. He felt like his legs were about to give way from under him at any second…

Don turned and motioned to Mark. "YOU NEXT! GO! GO!" Mark Tyler scrabbled past him and onto the ladder. Don looked over to Colby. The big man was in trouble…"COLBY!" Don, his eyes streaming with tears from the stinging smoke, stumbled towards Colby. He grabbed him by the shoulders and tried to haul him to his feet, but the younger man collapsed again in a desperate coughing fit, his chest heaving with the effort of trying to breathe. Don felt his own legs buckle under him and the world begin to go hazy. The deadly smoke was overwhelming them both. Don knew he had seconds before they both lost consciousness. Colby had been closest to the door and had breathed in more of the lethal smoke than any of them. His quick thinking with the wet sheets had probably saved their lives, but the action had taken a terrible toll on the big man. Don still held onto his friend's shoulders. He felt the man start to go limp and frantically shook Colby. "STAY WITH ME, COL!" STAY WITH ME!" Don choked, unable to get enough oxygen into his lungs. He felt the darkness closing in around him…

A mask was suddenly pushed against his face and he felt the powerful arms of a fireman grab him, hauling him to his feet. The fireman tossed Don over his shoulder like a rag doll and Don felt himself carried out of the window and down the ladder, the spring air cool and refreshing after the choking atmosphere of the smoked-filled room. He drifted into brief unconsciousness...

Colby lay on the floor, his breathing shallow and ragged. He knew he was dying. It was a strange sensation. The cacophony of sound that had just seconds ago threatened to deafen them all seemed to fade into nothingness. He was still aware of the room around him, but it had started to blur at the edges. He could see the darkness creeping steadily towards him. As soon as it touched him, he knew his life would be over. He welcomed it. It felt like the warmth of a duvet gently smothering him, enticing him to relax and just give in to the inevitable. His life didn't flash in front of his eyes. He saw nothing – just a slow, creeping blackness that swallowed everything, leaving him with a slowly decreasing island of reality in the void of emptiness. Then, in the hazy atmosphere of the rapidly shrinking world around him, he saw her. Her smile. Her emerald green eyes. Her auburn hair. Her lips formed silent words and she slowly faded away from him as the words filtered through the void between them…_"I love you"…_ He smiled quietly and closed his eyes, relaxing, letting go…

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David pushed the medic away and staggered to his feet, his lungs still feeling like they were on fire. He stumbled towards the fireman as the man stepped off the last rung, the medics poised to work on the unconscious body that slumped across his back. Carefully, the fireman let the medics take the unconscious man from his grasp and turned, his gloved hand cupping the back of the man's head as they lowered him to the floor. Immediately the medics started working. The man had inhaled a lot of smoke and wasn't breathing. David watched, a knot twisting in his stomach as they started CPR. He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned, looking into the soot covered face of Don. He looked frantic with worry. They both watched as the medics worked on Colby, fighting to get the man to breathe again…

Colby suddenly let out a violent cough and gasped desperately for air. A medic clamped a mask over his face, turning the oxygen on full. She held it against the man's face as Colby choked, encouraging him to breathe slowly, trying to calm the man's desperate attempts to get enough air into his lungs. Sweat trickled down his blackened face, leaving bright trails across his skin and down his cheeks. He struggled against the hands that held him down, blind panic overwhelming the previously peaceful state he had let himself slip in to. Gradually, he calmed down and lay flat, his breathing becoming more regular. The effort had exhausted him and Colby closed his eyes, unresponsive to the repeated questions of the medics…

David pushed his way through and crouched next to Colby, cradling his head gently. "C'mon Col, open your eyes, buddy, open your eyes!" Slowly, the green eyes flickered open and Colby nodded.

"I'm okay." The voice was barely a hoarse whisper – his throat raw and ragged from the effects of the smoke and the violent coughing. David felt a hand touch his arm and he grasped Colby's hand, reassuring him. The man looked panicked, his wide green eyes staring at David for reassurance…

"Don't try talking, brother. I got ya." He squeezed Colby's hand, feeling the man's fingers tighten in response.

"We need to get him to hospital, Agent. He's inhaled a lot of smoke." The medic's voice was firm but gentle. "Right _now_, Agent." David looked up into the clear, soft eyes of a woman. She smiled at him gently, reassuring him that they would take care of his friend. "County General. He'll be taken straight to ER."

"Thank you." David smiled back at the medic and noted her name. Denise. "Thank you Denise." The woman had the most beautiful brown eyes he had ever seen. Her dark skin was smooth and the white of her smile almost dazzling. He stepped back and watched as Denise and her colleagues carefully put his friend into the ambulance. He turned away and looked for Don…

Don leaned back against the hood of the ambulance, watching David soothe his frightened partner. Colby had done what Colby always did – put his own life at risk for the sake of his friends without any thought for his own safety. He resolved to reprimand the man later. Not badly, but enough to try and make Colby understand that his life was just as important as any of theirs… He heard footsteps behind him. Mark Tyler laid a hand on Don's back. "You okay, bud?"

Don rounded on Tyler, a furious snarl on his face. "No, pal, I am _not _okay!" He coughed again, the last of the smoke clearing his lungs. "You better start praying now that Colby's gonna make it, my friend, or you're gonna be right there at the top of my _goddamn _'to do' list!" He stood up, inches away from the man, a furious frown on his face. "What you told Col in there…"

"I swear it's the truth, Don!" Tyler took a step back, a worried look on his face. "And Don believe me, I've been prayin' _damn _hard for a lot longer than you, my friend. These people aren't gonna stop, man. This?" He waved a hand at the smouldering ruin of the community centre. "This, buddy, was them getting serious. They ain't screwin' around, Don. You better get one of your people down the hospital pretty damn quick because they're gonna keep tryin' to kill every damn one of us, including Colby." He held out the hold all. "This is everything I got, Eppes. Everything. God willing, it's enough." He thrust the hold-all towards Don, willing him to take it. Don reached out and took the hold-all. He didn't know who to trust any more…

"They're taking Col to County General. Where's Andy?" David jogged up and Don turned, a puzzled look on his face.

"Andy?"

"Yeah, he got out before the fire started, remember?"

In the chaos, Don had completely forgotten about the Englishman. Andy. Where the hell was he? Don frowned and shook his head. "Oh man, I clean forgo…

"Agents?" An LAPD uniformed officer beckoned. "I think you guys better see this…"

Don and David frowned at each other, the frowns being slowly replaced by concern. They turned quickly and followed the officer around to the back entrance to the building. Lying close to the gaping doorway and almost obscured by a pile of bricks lay Andy Thompson…Don stopped in his tracks and groaned, raising his face to the heavens in a desperate plea for God to _PLEASE stop piling on the crap_…

David felt an almost physical blow in his guts…"Oh _no_, man, this is _not _happening_…_" He ran a hand over his face, trying to compose himself in front of the uniformed officer.

The policeman guided them over to the body and stood back as the two men bent next to the Englishman. Don ran his hand through his hair, a pained expression on his face. He hadn't known the man for long. But he knew how hard Colby would take his death… A single bullet wound nestled between Andy's eyes, right in the middle of his forehead. A thin trickle of bright red blood slowly dripped down the skin. Andy's lifeless eyes stared up into the sky, the light long since extinguished. The bullet had killed him instantly. A red stain spread from a second gunshot wound to the throat. The gunman had known that the man was wearing a bullet-proof vest and had put the 'just in case' second shot through his throat instead of his heart. There had been no need of the second shot, but it was a clear indication to the two FBI agents that the gunman had been a professional hit man. This was a message. A warning. The wounds were a classic execution pattern.

David reached down gently and closed the man's eyes. He knew the repercussions of Andy's death would be much worse than anything they'd been through today. The man was a serving British soldier. He had been murdered on US soil whilst engaged in a covert operation being carried out with the full knowledge and co-operation of the FBI. David realised that they were staring down the barrel of an international incident here…

He also knew that the second Micky Cox, Colby and the rest of their team found out there would be Hell itself to pay…

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Colby's eyes flickered open. As the world came back into focus, he glanced around. He was in a hospital bed, the quiet, rhythmic hiss of the ventilator pumping oxygen into his lungs. He was suddenly aware of a tube blocking his throat and he gagged, the reaction causing him to spasm violently. "WHOA! COL! EASY!" Micky Cox leapt to his feet and pushed a hard hand against the struggling man's chest. "NURSE!" Micky yelled back over his shoulder and then immediately focused back on his friend. "Easy, Col! Don't fight it, mate, it's helping you breathe! Easy! Col, look at me, _look at me Colby_! Relax!" Micky locked his bright blue eyes onto Colby and held him as the nurses dashed in.

"He's trying to breathe for himself." A female doctor pushed her way past the nurses and checked the monitors. She glanced down at Colby and smiled. "Okay, Colby? I'm going to take the tube out." She detached the oxygen pipe and moved the ventilator out of the way. She quickly and expertly withdrew the tube, her highly trained hands causing him as little distress as possible. Colby choked as the tube was taken out of his throat, coughing frantically as it pulled free and his body took over. His chest heaved as he gasped at the air, his nervous system in overdrive as it fired every instinct in his body to _breathe_…

The doctor immediately pressed an oxygen mask against his face and gently urged him to relax. Slowly, Colby's breathing stabilised and his chest rose and fell rhythmically. He nodded that he was okay and put his own hand up to the mask, holding it in place as the doctor looped the elastic straps around the back of his head. He lay back on the pillow, exhausted again.

Micky nodded his thanks to the doctor, who smiled. "He's very lucky. The smoke hasn't done any lasting damage, but he'll feel a bit breathless for a few days. I'd like to keep him in overnight for observations. Try and keep him calm. I'll pop back in an hour or so to see how he's doing." She smiled again and turned away, leaving the man's in the competent and expert care of the ICU nurses. Micky stood back and waited as the nurses bustled around Colby, making sure he was okay.

They finally left, the last one to leave giving Micky a quick nod. "Not too long. He needs to rest, okay?"

"Understood." Micky watched the woman leave and turned to his friend. "Dave called me. Fuck me, Granger, what, Kosovo wasn't _enough _bleedin' excitement for one week?" He grinned, but Colby could see the worry behind the smile. Micky pulled up a chair and sat down. He laid a gentle but firm hand on his friend's shoulder and his normally mischief-filled eyes and roguish demeanour suddenly changed. His eyes darkened and he became deadly serious. "Tommo's dead. They found him at the scene, mate…" Colby struggled against Micky's hand to sit up. "Easy, mate. I know, Col, I know." There was a deep sadness in Micky's voice. Andy Thompson had only been with the regiment for six months. But he had been liked by everyone who knew him. He had been a good soldier and a good friend. Colby lay back on the pillow and turned his head towards his friend. He removed the mask from his face for a moment, holding it to one side.

"How?"

"Bullet between the eyes. Another in the throat. Execution." The words caught in Micky's throat, but they had to treat this as a professional. There would be time to mourn the loss of another comrade later on…

Colby clenched his eyes closed for a second, the details of Andy's death falling like painful blows. He opened his eyes and looked directly at Micky. "I'm sorry, man."

"What for?" Micky frowned. "It weren't your fault, mate. You know that."

"Don and David?"

"They're okay. Been checked out by the doctors and headed back to Fed Central. David called me and told me to keep an eye on you until they got someone over from your lot."

"What?"

"David says they ain't done, mate. Whoever tried to barbecue you lot in the park wants to tidy up as they go along, old son." Micky patted his side and grinned. "Don't suppose they'll be expecting me and Lotty here if they do try anything silly."

Colby knew that 'Lotty' was Micky's Browning 9mm. Some of the Special Forces lads had a strange habit of giving their sidearms names. The Brits tended to favour oddly dated names. It was just one of their quirks that Colby always found strangely reassuring. The Brits were some of the most respected combat veterans in the world. Their strange, gallows sense of humour and eccentric approach to the most brutal of theatres enabled them to cope with combat situations that would have floored less capable soldiers. He nodded.

"Who's keeping a watch on Dee?"

"Don's organised two on her door twenty four seven. We've got a list of all the medical staff on duty and Don's people know not to let _anyone _who ain't on that list, mate. She's safe, Col. I promise you." Micky smiled gently, trying to ease his friend's worries. "Best thing you can do now mate is get some rest." His gentle smile suddenly broadened into a grin. "Or do I have to start throwing ketchup bottles at ya to prove a fuckin' point, buggerlugs?"

Colby smiled briefly – Micky wasn't going to let him forget about his less than textbook approach to testing Micky's alertness earlier. He shook his head. "Bud, I wouldn't have a hope in hell of catching a cold right now, let alone a damn ketchup bottle. I get it, Mick, okay? I know I need to rest."

Micky sat back, mock surprise on his face. "Fuck me, Granger, that was easier than expected. What, you getting soft in your old age, CJ? Huh? Want me to tuck you in there, sleepyhead?"

Colby held a hand up in mock submission. Payback was a bitch when a mischievous Cockney with a memory like an elephant threw back his earlier reprimand word for word at him. He laughed hoarsely and shook his head. "Nah, buddy, you win, okay? You win. I ain't up to tradin' insults with a smart-ass Cockney like you right about now."

"Lemme guess. But give it a few hours and you'll be chewin' my backside off as per usual, right Guv?" Micky smiled gently, genuine concern for his friend evident in his bright blue eyes. "Get some shut-eye, Col. That, sir, is a bleedin' order." Micky stood up and paused as Colby grabbed his forearm.

"Do me a favour, Micky?"

"Anything, mate."

"Check in on Dee for me, bud?"

Micky smiled warmly. "'Course I will, old son. Don't worry." He patted Colby's arm and turned away. Colby watched him quietly close the door behind him. He lay back on the pillows and finally allowed himself to drift into sleep…

Micky turned away from the door and straight into the path of David Sinclair. "Hey David. You alright, mate?" Micky looked at the man intently. He knew that David had been in the same fire as Colby. He held the American in high regard and was concerned for his wellbeing.

"I'm good. How is he?" David nodded towards Colby's room.

"Resting." Micky nodded towards the FBI man who sat guarding Colby's room and led David to one side, his voice quiet and reassuring. "He really doesn't need to talk to anyone right now, mate. He's knackered. They took him off the ventilator a few minutes ago. He's breathing for himself and the doctors say he's gonna be fine." Micky could see the obvious relief flood through David and guided him down gently onto the vinyl-covered seats. "Look Dave, he really needs to rest. And by the looks of it, so do you."

"Micky, I told you, man, I'm fine. Does Colby know about…"

"Andy?" A deep sadness filled Micky's eyes. "Yeah mate, he does."

"How's he taken it?"

"How'd ya think he's taken it?"

David nodded. "Not good. I know."

"Andy was a good bloke, David."

David frowned. "Yeah, I know that. But, I dunno…something Tyler said when we were in that room…"

It was Micky's turn to frown. "Waddya mean?"

"Well, he said he knew Andy."

"Tyler's a Marine. He might've worked with him at some point…"

"No, it wasn't that. He gave Colby the impression he knew him from somewhere else other than the army. He said that he was more than just Special Forces." David looked questioningly at his English friend. "Does that mean anything to you?"

Micky shook his head. "No, but I can do some digging if you can get me to a computer. Even better, why not ask Tyler?" Micky frowned. "Oh, for _fuck's sake_, _PLEASE _tell me you managed to keep Tyler alive, David!"

"He's fine. He saved our lives."

"He _what_?"

"He's straight, Micky. Whoever's behind this has his sister as a hostage. He's being manipulated just like every other poor son of a bitch in this goddamn _freakin' pantomime!" _David finally cracked. It had been a long, incredibly stressful twenty four hours. He was exhausted. His head dropped and he covered his face with his hands. All he wanted to do now was sleep…

Micky put his arm around David's shoulders. "Easy, old son. Seems to me that everyone just needs to take a few hours here and regroup. Nikki's called me. She's got a car on the way. I'm sure I can ask the driver to drop you off home on the way, mate. Ya know. Get your head down for a few hours."

"That's not your decision to make, Micky."

"No. It's mine. And he's right." Don stood directly in front of the men and smiled down benignly at his partner. "Go home, David. That's an order." David looked up and opened his mouth to argue, but Don held up a hand. "Go _home_, David. Get some rest. We can carry on without you for a few hours."

David stood up slowly and looked at his boss. "Thanks, Don." He turned to Micky. "Make sure someone keeps an eye on Granger…"

"He ain't going anywhere, mate. Now do as your boss says and bugger off." Micky grinned briefly and stood up. David gave one last nod and slowly walked away. Don watched his retreating back and spoke without taking his eyes off David's disappearing form. "We were set up, Mick." He turned suddenly and faced the Englishman. "And I wanna know _who _by, buddy."

"Colby and Dee are out of action for the moment. David's exhausted. That leaves you, me Tyler and Nikki still standing mate, and every damn one of us is walking wounded. We need somewhere safe and secure so we can start piecing this bloody jigsaw back together. And I need to talk to Tyler."

"He gave us a load of intel, Mick. I know that's your department. Tommy, our tech, has set up a secure link up back at the Bullpen. Best to head back there, bud."

Micky nodded. "Yeah, I just gotta do one quick thing before we go, mate…"

333333

Diane Armstrong's room was quiet, except for the monotonous bleep of the monitors and the hiss of an oxygen supply feeding into the nasal tube that kept her lungs filled and her breathing regular. She lay still on the bed, her green eyes closed and an almost serene look on her face. Micky picked up her limp hand and held it gently in his fingers. "Hey Guv. Colby told me to look in on ya." He moved quietly and sat down on the chair next to her. "Guv, listen. We got ourselves a right old shit storm here. Honestly? I'm _way _out of my depth here, ma'am. Way out. Col's out, he's okay, but he had a bit of trouble. Guv, we _need _you back, you hear me? We can't do this without you." He leaned in and whispered urgently. "Guv, it's all gone Pete fuckin' Tong here. Andy's dead. They tried to kill Col. They tried to kill all of 'em, Guv. They set fire to the fuckin' building, for fuck's sake! And I've got a crap load of intel that I don't know where to start unravellin', boss. I _need your help, Guv_!" He sat back. "So, um, wake the fuck up, would ya? I'd appreciate it." He took a deep breath, trying to quash the raising panic that threatened to creep up inside him. He felt isolated and frightened. He might be a damn good comms officer and tech, but when it came to actually picking the bones out of a pile of intel, Dee was the boss. He was terrified of letting his friends and his boss down. All of their lives could depend on the intelligence they had amassed…

For a fleeting second, Micky felt her hand tighten in his. He sat up sharply. "Guv? Can you hear me? Guv?" He swallowed nervously and waited, willing her to respond again. "Guv?"

"Micky?" Don frowned. He had been watching from the doorway.

Micky turned sharply, his blue eyes intense. "I got a response, Don. Get a doctor in here _right now_."

Don nodded and turned away, searching for a doctor…

Micky turned back to the unconscious woman. "Guv, listen to me. If you can hear me, give my hand a squeeze." He waited. Then slowly, very slowly, he felt her fingers flex. Micky took a deep breath. "Good girl! C'mon Guv, you can do this! You need to be right here, gal. Right here. Talk to me, Guv. Open your eyes and bloody talk to me!" He waited, ignoring the rapid footsteps that approached her room. A doctor bustled in and went to the other side of the bed. Micky looked at him briefly. "She's responding to my voice, sir."

The doctor lifted opened one eyelid and shone a torch into the eye. "Pupils are reacting." He switched off the torch and checked the monitors. "She's showing much higher brainwave responses." He looked at Micky. "Keep talking to her. I'm gonna go out on a limb and say there's a damn good chance she knows you're there. Keep talking…"

"Guv? Can you hear me? Guv?" Micky's voice took on an urgency. "Guv, c'mon. _Wakey wakey, soldier! Reveille!"_

Diane's eyelids flickered. Don felt the sense of urgency flowing out from Micky and he joined the Englishman in encouraging her. "C'mon, Dee. C'mon sweetheart, we need you awake, honey! _Colby _needs you!"

The emerald green eyes slowly opened. Don stroked her hair gently back from her forehead and smiled softly at her. "Hey! Look who's awake!"

"Welcome back, Guv…" Micky's voice was soft. Diane looked confused, her eyes still glazed from the grogginess of the coma and drugs. Her eyes flickered towards Don and she opened her mouth to try and speak, her voice cracked and faint…

"Colby…"

"He's okay, sweetie, he's okay." Don's voice was soft and reassuring and he continued to stroke her hair. "I'll let him know you're awake, Dee. Okay? Don't worry, you're gonna be just fine…" Don looked at Micky. "Stay here with her, Mick. I'll go tell Colby."

"Not a problem, mate." Micky nodded. "Go."

Don turned quickly and walked out of the room. As he took one weary step after another down the corridor, a sense of almost overwhelming relief flooded through him. He thought of Dee as one of his own now. He'd almost lost his entire team in the last twenty four hours. He was utterly exhausted, but right now, his team needed him at the helm. It was time to regroup. Time to start taking the fight to the enemy…

_**TBC…..**_


	20. A Pawn for a Queen

Disclaimer:

GAH! _Another_ disclaimer? What, you lot think something's changed from last time? Oh, al_right_ then… I do not have anything to do with Numb3rs. I am, however, open to offers should CBS see sense and commission a season 7… (what? An author can't tout for work occasionally, no matter how remote the possibility?)

The Brits, the story and the chocolate sprinkle donuts next to the coffee machine are mine, however, meaning that this story was written under the influence of E-numbers, too much caffeine and a bit of a sugar rush. I therefore absolve myself of any responsibility for any looks of bewilderment, comments of "Seriously…what the _fu…._" and "What does that even _mean_?" that may be the result of trying to work out who the hell's double-crossing whom. Usual warning for bad language, some violence and extreme Cockney slang applies – if you're struggling that much with the terminology, try running it through Babelfish…

Roll credits and wonky Numb3rs board…

33333333333333333333

"What in the _hell _are you doing out of bed, Agent Granger?" The ICU nurse frowned furiously at the big man. Colby just shrugged and ignored her, his eyes glued on the figure lying in the bed. The nurse followed his gaze and her hard frown softened. "Okay. A couple of minutes. _That's all_. And then straight back to bed, you hear me?"

"Yeah, yeah." Colby's gaze didn't waver. He walked slowly into the room, Don a step behind him, ready to catch his friend if Colby's legs gave out. He knew the nurse was right – Colby should be resting. Try telling that to Granger, though…

Micky looked up, a gentle smile on his face. "You're a right bleedin' pair, you are, you know that?" He stood up and moved out of the way, allowing Colby to sink down carefully into the seat next to Diane. Don nodded towards the door and Micky responded. They left the two wounded ex soldiers in peace…

Colby grasped Diane's hand and kissed it softly. "Hey baby." Her eyes flickered open and a smile spread slowly across her lips.

"Hey you." Her voice was barely a whisper but it filled Colby with hope. For a brief moment, he felt the sun on his back as it streamed in through the window. The terrible dread and heartbreaking ache he had felt when he had first seen her lying there, surrounded by medical equipment and breathing through a tube, evaporated. She was okay. His baby was okay… Diane shifted slightly and frowned. "Bloody hell, these pillows are worse than the ones back in Hereford!"

"You had _pillows_ at your barracks?"

"The British Army believes in a little bit of comfort for its officers, Granger, even if your bloody medical system doesn't!"

Colby chuckled softly and stood up, carefully rearranging the pillows as he supported the back of her head gently in one hand. "Better?"

"Hell no!"

"Damn woman, you're a worse patient than me!" He kissed her forehead tenderly and sat back, exhausted by the effort of walking to her room. His breathing was laboured, and he felt as if he'd just done a 15-mile run at altitude.

Diane looked concerned, watching him like a hawk as he took a moment to try and get his breath back. Her fingers tightened in his hand and he responded, reassuring her he was okay. But it wasn't enough for her. She grumbled quietly as she tried to shift position again and sit up against the lumpy pillows. Eventually, the emerald-green eyes locked into his and she studied him closely, frowning. "What happened, Col?"

"What is it Micky always says? Community centre go boom. Much excitement."

"You've got to stop spending so much time with Cox. He's a bad influence on you." A fleeting smile crossed her lips but Colby could see that she was still very weak. She struggled for breath at the end of every sentence, the effort of talking draining her energy rapidly.

"We got a location on Tyler. Some bozos in an SUV followed us, plate came back to our mob in Washington. I called them and they did the usual 'not us, buddy' routine. Next thing we know is they've turned off and we've gotten to the community centre. We found Tyler and then the world kinda got very hot, very smoky and very interesting _real _quick." Colby gave her a lopsided grin. "Luckily our fire department's pretty quick off the mark. I'll be fine, baby. Just a bit of smoke in my lungs, is all."

"Tyler?"

"Alive."

"Tell me everything."

Colby spent the next few minutes giving a detailed report to Diane, watching her carefully and making sure that the effort of talking wasn't taxing her too greatly. After a few minutes, her head dropped back onto the pillow and her eyes started to close. Colby frowned in concern. "Baby? Hey, you okay?" He stroked her hair gently and her eyes opened again.

"Talk to Micky. Ask him about Operation Enigma." Her voice was cracked and faint and her eyes closed slowly once more. Colby kissed her softly on the lips – for a few brief seconds he just rested his cheek against hers, willing her to be okay…

"Get some rest, baby. Get some rest…" He sat back slowly, his eyes never leaving her, their hands still entwined…

A gentle hand rested on his shoulder. "Advice you'd be well served to follow yourself, brother." Colby looked up and at the benign smile of his boss. Don nodded. "C'mon, buddy. Back to bed."

Colby shook his head. "I'm fine, Don."

"Are we gonna have this damn argument _every _freakin' time, Colby?"

"Yep." Colby stood up, carefully laying Diane's hand on the bed. "Don, as long as I don't get into any foot chases for a couple of days, I'll be fine. I'll leave that to Nikki and you guys, okay? Just put me in a room with Tyler." Colby suddenly looked deadly serious. "Don look. Tell me what argument to make, and I'll make it. But we don't have much time here. This has gotten way outta hand, man."

"You have any idea what Operation Enigma is?"

"None at all."

"Jesus Col, I _hate _all this crap!"

"I know you do, bud. I know. Honestly?" For a fleeting moment, Don could see a deep sadness in Colby's eyes. "So do I. But this is what we _do_, Don. We clean up the crap that other people don't wanna tackle. And somebody badly wants us _not _to. Bad enough to risk killing federal agents, Special Forces soldiers and god knows who the hell else." Colby frowned deeply. Don knew that look. No matter how much he argued that the big man needed to rest, wild horses weren't going to keep Colby out of the loop right now.

Don sighed in resignation. "Okay pal, but the first inkling I get that you're going under, I'm gonna handcuff you, put you in a car and get David to forcibly take you home, understood? If I have to pistol-whip your ass to do it!" Don flashed a grin at his 'boy', as he always called Colby. "C'mon, big guy. Let's sort this crap out once and for all, shall we?" He put a brotherly arm around his friend's shoulders, feeling the tense, exhausted muscles underneath. Colby was maybe one or two hours away from complete collapse. But he knew that the younger man was tougher physically than almost anyone he knew and, no matter what, would battle on to the point of collapse - and then get back up again. Colby always got back up. You could never keep the man down…

Colby glanced back at the sleeping form of Diane one last time. He reached out and stroked a stray wisp of hair away from her cheek, careful not to wake her. Granger turned back to his friend and boss and nodded. "Let's get the hell outta here, Don…"

333333333

Gary Walker had been working the Gang Unit for 20 years. There was nothing the man didn't know about the various turf wars, gun running, drugs and prostitution that every gang in the city was engaged in. But this was something new. Something different. He frowned as he scoured the scene. Six bodies lay in various states of 'disrepair', as he liked to say. The bullet holes that had ripped them apart had been from automatic weapons that were way above the usual pay grade of your average gang banger. But then, these bodies weren't your average gang bangers, either…

"Lieutenant Walker." Gary turned and a tiny smile tugged at his lips. Agent David Sinclair strode purposefully towards him, the wild curls of Agent Nikki Betancourt bouncing behind. She dressed like a Fed, but she still walked like a cop… Leaning against the hood of the fed's saloon was a powerfully built man, his arms crossed over his chest and studying the scene with an expert eye. Walker recognised the man. Micky Cox. The normally jovial expression and air of 'couldn't give a crap' that the Brits usually had was missing. Micky Cox was in 'business mode', as the English Special Forces boys liked to call it. He had worked with the Brits in Desert Storm. He knew that look well. It would probably end up with somebody getting badly hurt… Gary Walker's attention shifted back to Sinclair and he stretched out a hand in greeting. David walked up to him and shook his hand briefly but firmly.

"Agent Sinclair. How's your partner?"

"Stubborn, pig headed, a pain in the ass…"

"Discharged himself then, did he?" Gary Walker smiled enigmatically. "That boy's a piece of work."

David scowled deeply, but Walker could see the relief in his eyes. Colby was okay. "I was gonna ask the medics if we could sedate the stubborn SOB. Failing that, Don's threatened to cuff the bastard if he tries getting too energetic, ya know?"

Gary Walker let out a short, sharp laugh and patted David on the shoulder. "He's a Ranger, Sinclair. They're the goddamn Duracell Bunnies of the US army. Just keep going and going and going. You should know that by now."

"Doesn't mean that he still isn't driving me nuts, Gary." David gave the man a fleeting but genuinely warm smile. "What we got here?"

Gary turned and surveyed the devastation. "Thought we'd get your people in on this, Sinclair. Another shoot out. Nothing unusual there. Damn bangers are taking their turf wars to a whole new level recently. But this is different." He led the two Federal agents carefully into the middle of the crime scene and bent down by the first body. Walker flicked the sheet that covered the body back and crouched beside the lifeless man's head. Carefully, he lifted up the bloodstained army-green tee-shirt to reveal the man's chest. Several ugly bullet wounds were clearly visible, but Walker ignored them and pointed to a tattoo. "See that?" He looked up at Sinclair.

David looked down, frowning and nodding. Nikki peered over his shoulder, a puzzled look on her face. "What is that? It looks like…dog tags?"

"Colby told me once that some of the Special Forces guys had their dog tags tattooed on their chests just in case they, ya know." He made a brief cutting motion across his neck. "So they're bodies could be identified. We got ex army boys here, Walker?"

"Yep. Two ex SF boys and four low lifes from the Bixel Street crew. Kinda a strange mix of company, don't ya think?" Gary Walker flicked the sheet back over the dead man's body and stood up. "Point three three eight calibre. Again, not your average gang banger's ordnance. My guess is this was a business deal that went wrong."

"Any weapons recovered?"

"No. Just the brass."

"We can get forensics to check the casings. Twenty bucks says they're from our missing Armoury weapons cache." David made a quick note in his black notepad and snapped it closed. "Question is though…"

Nikki interjected. "What the hell are the Bixel Street boys doing makin' arms deals with a paramilitary crew?"

"Exactly." Walker nodded towards Micky Cox. "Think he might have any intel on this, Sinclair?"

David shook his head. "He's here in an advisory capacity only, Lieutenant. Any identities on the bodies yet?"

Walker glanced down at the covered body at his feet. "This one's Michael Bowerman. US Marine Corps. Dishonourable discharge two years ago. Been bumming around for the first eighteen months. Took a job at O'Neils six months ago. He was a demolitions expert."

"Could be one of the crew that hit the Armoury." Nikki mused thoughtfully, staring at the body. "Colby did say that the place went up with one hell of a bang."

"Yeah. True. But the chances are that anyone from O'Neils is gonna have demolitions experience, right? I mean, that's what they do." David frowned. "What about the other guy?"

"He's more of a mystery man, Sinclair. His tattoo's been lasered."

"What?"

"Laser tattoo removal. It's pretty common these days." Walker scratched idly at the back of his head. "Mind you, there's only a handful of places in LA that do it. And his was pretty fresh. Might be worth checking up."

"I'll start getting a list of tattoo removal people together. See if anyone remembers removing a dog tag tattoo recently." Nikki glanced at David, waiting for confirmation from the senior agent. David nodded and Nikki walked away, a phone already pressed to her ear.

Walker watched her and spoke thoughtfully to David, his gaze staying on the woman. "How's she working out, Sinclair?"

"Who, Nikki?" David shrugged. "Okay I guess. She's no Megan Reeves, but once you get past that smart mouth of hers, there's a pretty good agent in there fighting to get out!" He grinned briefly at Gary and his demeanour instantly became serious again. "I'll talk to our British friend. See if he can shed any light on this."

Gary watched David walk back towards the passive Englishman. The Brit's stance was relaxed. But Gary knew what the man was capable of. He'd spent a short time working alongside the Brits when they first hit Baghdad, and their no-nonsense approach to the job had impressed him. But what made as big an impression on him was the cold, clinical ruthlessness they employed in order to get the job done. Micky Cox had that ruthlessness. Like Granger, he hid it underneath an easy going exterior, a quick, sardonic wit and complete loyalty to his team. Both men let others think they were just ordinary 'squaddies', as the Brits liked to call them – not particularly bright but useful in a firefight. It was a charade – an act they both used to lull people into some kind of false sense of security around them. It's what made Granger such a good undercover agent. And such a dangerous spy…

Micky pushed himself up off the hood of the car as David approached. "Well?" There was none of the usual flippancy. Micky's tone was similar to Diane's in full briefing mode. "What we got this time, Sinclair?"

"Two dead ex soldiers. Looks like a gun deal gone bad. They took out four gang members at the same time."

"Really." The word was utterly dismissive. "Mind if I take a look?"

David frowned at the Englishman. "What's got you so eaten up, Micky?"

"Trigger-happy numbnuts with way too much time on their hands who keep trying to ruin my holiday in the LA sunshine, old son." Despite the typical 'Micky' remark, there was a dark cast to his eyes. That same cast that David had seen so many times in Colby, just before the last thing a bad guy saw was the big man from Idaho barrelling into him and slamming him into the ground. A feral savagery that only manifested for a split second and then was instantly sheathed, like a well-honed battle knife. Completely controlled, pinpointed rage that served a single purpose. David fervently hoped he would never have to see it from Micky as well. He liked the easy going Englishman. His infuriating sense of humour had grown on David and he had ended up considering the Englishman as a good friend as well as a hugely capable man of astonishing intellect. But something was wrong. Very wrong. This was more than just an annoyance at what he had endearingly termed 'trigger-happy numbnuts'. This was something much bigger…

He put a hand on Micky's arm as the big man passed him, stopping him in his tracks. He moved in close, so others couldn't overhear their conversation. "You keepin' something from me here, Micky?"

Micky faced the man, his usually mischievous eyes now deadly serious. "You've got two dead Special Forces boys over there Sinclair." He held a hand up at David's surprised expression. He had been sure Micky was out of earshot of his conversation with Walker! "My sister's profoundly deaf, mate. I learned to lip-read when I was eight. Sign language too. Ya know. So I could understand how it was for Beth. Comes in bloody handy when you want to listen in on people's conversations without them knowin' it. Boss calls it the ancient art of…"

"Sneekeebastard, yeah, I know. She explained it to me once over a couple of beers and a _lot _of tequila one night." David frowned. "That still don't answer my question, buddy. I'll ask you again." He moved in closer and the words came in a hoarse whisper. David was quite sure Micky could take him in a fight. Just as Colby could. But David was a brave man and almost as stubborn as his partner was. He wouldn't back down either…"_Are you keeping something from me, Micky_?"

Micky's voice dropped low. "Not here." His eyes flicked up towards an overlooking building. David's glance followed the man's gaze. At the window Micky indicated, David could see a blind bent slightly out of shape. Through the blind shimmered the bluish gleam of a camera lens. It was pointing straight at David.

Someone was watching them…

333333333

David guided the saloon through the LA traffic. Nikki had hitched a ride back to the Bullpen with another agent. He was alone in the car with Micky, who sat quietly in the passenger seat, a thoughtful look on his face. David's eyes flickered into the mirror, checking behind him. Nothing suspicious… He glanced over at Micky. The man was checking the passenger mirror. He was thinking the same thing…

"Who's watching us, Micky?" David wanted some answers.

"Until I can work that out mate, assume everyone is." Micky's eyes flickered into the driver's mirror as David watched the road ahead. "Ever play chess, David?"

David snorted a short laugh. "Man, you are talking to the world's _worst _chess player, buddy. We had this one case, a kid, couldn't have been more than fourteen years old, was acting as a messenger for a gang leader in jail. The guy used to coach the kid chess moves. He was actually passing information out through the kid and the kid didn't even realise it. I played him a couple of times. He beat my ass every goddamn time. In _seconds_, Micky. So no. I don't play chess. Is it relevant?"

"Well maybe if you did, you'd spot what's going on here, mate."

"And for those of us uninitiated in the tactics of the chessboard, Micky?"

"A pawn for a queen." Micky looked at the man he now considered a friend and grinned. "If you lose your queen, you can get it back by a pawn making it to the other side of the board. It usually means you're then in a primary position to go for a checkmate because chances are the opposing king's gonna be pretty close by, seeing as the useless bastard can only move one square at a time. If you've managed to get a pawn all the way to the other end of the board, it means that you've got a pretty good defensive strategy in place. Trouble is, it can go pretty damn wrong pretty damn bloody quick, mate. One wrong move and another piece can take the queen immediately afterwards. Unless you get your opponent into check pretty damn sharpish, you're buggered."

David looked in disbelief at the man. "You been talkin' to Charlie, Micky?"

Micky let out a short laugh. "Strategy, Sinclair. Tactical analysis. The chessboard has always been used to devise the finest military strategies in the world. The Romans used 'em, so did the Greeks. It's the foundation of all military strategy. War really _is _just a game, mucker. A game with live ammo."

"So what's it telling us here, buddy?"

Micky's eyes were flickering between David and the driver's mirror. He frowned slightly. "It's telling us that we're looking at the wrong bit of the board, Dave. We're watching the wrong…pieces…_bugger!_" Micky sat back in the passenger seat and scanned the road ahead. Take a left."

"What?"

"We've got company. Take a left. Now." Micky's expression was serious and he was already checking his Browning. David immediately swung the big saloon down a left turn, winding down the tight alley carefully but with the speed building. He glanced in the mirror and saw a big, black SUV swing into the same alley entrance. They were being followed… "These bastards are beginning to _piss me off_!" Micky's face flashed briefly into a snarl as he slid the stock back on the Browning.

"Who _are _those bastards, Mick?"

"I have absolutely no bloody idea, mate. But they ain't ours, I know that much."

"What's the plate?"

"Do what?"

"The plate. Can you see the plate?"

"Seven two six, Delta, Echo, Mike."

David quickly worked out the variances in Micky's use of the phonetic alphabet. "That's the same truck that was following us earlier. Before we got our asses barbecued!"

"You're sure?"

"Positive! Colby called it through. Then got on his cell to some guy…Lawrence, I think he called him. Told him to back off." David swerved sharply around a dumpster, sending litter fluttering into the air. The SUV was accelerating hard, the massive chrome front bull bar looming up behind the saloon. "Lawrence claimed that they weren't his people."

"But it's a government plate?"

"I guess so. Hold on!" David hauled on the steering wheel and the saloon, bucking and weaving, slued sharply to the right. The alleyway had brought them onto one of the docks that ran the length of the front. David accelerated and the saloon sped along the wide concrete walkway. The SUV's tyres screamed as it slid sideways onto the dock, smoke pouring from the back wheels as it catapulted along the concrete, pursuing the saloon. "Who the HELL are these sons of bitches?" David weaved in and out of the concrete pillars, desperately looking for an exit…

A burst of automatic gunfire shattered the back window, causing both men to flinch and duck. "FUCKERS!" Micky screamed furiously and spun around, the sharp crack of the Browning 9mm almost deafening David. Micky let off three double taps and the SUV veered violently to the left as the windscreen shattered. The big truck started to snake, the driver obviously battling for control. Micky steadied his hands on the back of the headrest and aimed carefully. "KEEP IT STRAIGHT, SINCLAIR!" David straightened the wheel and gripped tight. They were running out of dock…

Micky seemed to take an eternity to fire…

The edge of the dock was now only a few hundred feet away. David got ready to throw the wheel and haul on the parking brake…

"Steady…_steady…_" Micky watched as the SUV began to regain control, picking his opportunity precisely. As the SUV veered once more to the left, he fired twice. "UNLESS YOU WANNA GET BLOODY WET DAVID, _BRAKE_!" David stamped on the brake pedal and the saloon's tyres screamed in protest, blue smoke pouring off the tread and the stench of burning rubber stinging his nostrils.

Behind him, the SUV's front left tyre had blown. Micky's shooting was as sharp as his wit… The top heavy truck completely lost control and headed straight towards the low wall of the wharf. With astonishing grace, it leapt over the edge and hung in the air for a few seconds before performing a perfect arch and landing nose first in the water. A massive plume of water erupted as the truck impacted the surface. The back end of the SUV bobbed for a moment before the entire vehicle slid silently beneath the inky water, a stream of bubbles charting its progress to the bottom…

The saloon shuddered to a halt. They'd stopped with inches to spare... David threw his door open, hitting the ground running, his gun already drawn. The two men sprinted to the side of the wharf and cautiously looked over the edge, their guns held out in front of them. Nobody had got out alive…

Micky slowly put his gun away, his face expressionless. David knew what that meant. He was pissed. He was pissed that they hadn't got at least one of the occupants alive so he could get valuable information. David instinctively knew that whoever was in that SUV, there'd be no ID cards, no fingerprints, no DNA matches. If they were Government, then this was a covert operation. And the men in that SUV were no amateurs…

David holstered his gun and pulled out his cell-phone, his eyes never leaving the water. He flipped open the phone and hit speed dial one. "Don? It's David…"

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Colby looked up as the two men walked into the war room. "You okay, guys?" There was an edge of anxiety in his voice.

David nodded and sat down heavily in a chair. "Yeah, brother, we're good. Just another boring day at the Bureau." He rubbed his eyes and looked up. "I suppose we got nothing, right?"

"Nope. Not so far, anyway."

"Great. That's…yeah. That's great." David sighed deeply.

"Nikki's running down a lead on tattoo removals, see if we can get a lead on our second dead guy. I got Bowerman's file sent over from DC." Colby stood up and walked over to the plasma screen. He held up a remote and pressed a button. David couldn't help noticing how the big man carefully sat back on the edge of a table, looking momentarily shaky and out of breath. He was still suffering the effects of breathing in the toxic smoke. It made exertion of any kind difficult for the normally fighting fit man. David could see the flash of frustration on his friend's face.

Micky didn't miss it either. Wordlessly, he walked over to the water cooler and filled a cup. He moved quietly to his friend and held it out. Colby accepted it and silently nodded his thanks. Micky patted him on the shoulder and moved away, standing quietly in a corner and studying the screen. Colby took a sip of water and looked at the screen. "Michael Bowerman. Corporal, Special Forces. Speciality, bang man." He glanced over to David. "Demolitions, bud."

"I know, Col."

The door opened softly and Nikki slipped in. She was quickly followed by Don, who laid a hand on David's shoulder. A questioning look indicated his concern for David, who merely nodded silently to let his boss know he was okay.

"Sorry, man. Anyhoo, he got himself a dishonourable discharge from the army. The hearing is sealed all the way up, David. Even I can't get access to it."

"Seriously?" David looked surprised. He knew Colby's security clearance went way above anybody else's in the office, including Don's. If Colby couldn't get clearance to see something as mundane as a disciplinary hearing, it meant some seriously important people didn't want them to know something…

"Yeah, man, seriously. But what I _have _been able to put together is a list of known associates when he was in the army. The guy ran with a crew led by a Lieutenant Sebastian Webber. Seb to his oppos."

"Wait, I've heard that name before…" Nikki frowned and walked over to a table covered with files. She sorted through them and pulled out a sheet of paper. "I thought so. Last call Michael King made before he tried to land on me in the warehouse. Sebastian Webber." She held the piece of paper up.

"So King and Bowerman both knew this Seb Webber?" Don frowned.

"King didn't have a military record." Nikki put the paper down. "So where did he know him from? And why was he calling him as soon as he knew me and Colby were onto him?"

Colby sat quietly, a thoughtful look on his face. He slowly glanced up, straight at Micky. "Mick, Dee mentioned something to me, buddy. What's Operation Enigma?" Micky stood silently, staring straight at his friend. Colby frowned. "Micky?"

"Sorry mate. Not in front of the civvies."

"Mick, don't fuck about, buddy…"

"Col, I'm sorry. It's way above their pay grade."

"Bull_shit_, Micky!" Colby suddenly stood up, an angry flash in his eyes. "Operation Enigma. Details. _Now_, soldier!"

"Sir, with respect…" Micky looked at his friend and saw the dangerous look in Colby's eyes. He held up a hand. "Okay, okay. I'm sorry. Just…"

"Instinct, yeah, I know, buddy. But that hasn't really helped us so far, has it?" Colby walked across the room and stood facing his friend. "Who do you trust, Micky?"

"You, mate." Micky didn't hesitate in answering.

"And I trust _these _people, Micky. "Colby pointed to the federal agents in the room. "Which means so should you. Listen buddy. Andy's dead. They've tried to kill us _god knows_ how many times, Jesus Micky, they _blew you up_, for Chrissake! So fuck protocol, Micky, okay? Fuck it! Tell me about Enigma. Please, Micky. Don't hold back on me here, bud…"

Micky stood facing his friend for a few seconds. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft. "Enigma was one of those CIA freaky-arsed bullshit operations, mate. Like bloody MK Ultra. A 'what if' scenario."

"The 'what if' being?"

"What if organisations that had objectives that were potentially harmful to the state managed to get operatives in positions of power, mate. The usual chess game shit." Micky threw a quick glance at David.

"The pawn for a queen move?" David raised an eyebrow.

"Exactly, Dave. Only it was supposed to be all theoretical. Ya know. Computer models, Dunbar equations, that whole load of crap."

"What's a Dunbar equation?" Nikki couldn't help asking.

"A Dunbar number is the theoretical number of contacts one person can have within a structured organisation." Charlie Eppes hovered at the doorway, an apologetic look on his face. "Um, think of a railway carriage with a specific number of seats. If you were to sit in one particular seat, the Dunbar number will tell you how many people you are likely to have direct contact with in any given time period."

"What, you mean like social network analysis?" Nikki frowned.

"Um, no, not really. You see, the Dunbar number is limited to a finite amount. Usually 150 for any social group, regardless of the amount of previous contact they may or may not have had. As people get on and off the train, the number of people within the carriage can only reach a set number before its capacity is fully reached, or the train arrives at its final destination and your original subject gets off." Charlie frowned at Micky. "What I don't understand is why the CIA were applying it to this particular application, Agent Cox."

"They were trying to work out the possible number of contacts one operative could develop within a defined position. Like I said, it was supposed to be a simple psychological exercise. I did some of the computer modelling for the original sample."

"Okay, but I'm still not seeing the connection, buddy."

"Col, you remember Tyler told us that some of the hawks at Langley weren't happy about Obama's administration? That they were going for a regime change?" Don looked thoughtful. "Maybe they've managed to use the operation as a cover to get someone in for real – someone with enough reach and clout to start their own political manoeuvrings?" Don looked at his younger agent. "Someone with a lot of contacts on different sides? Who could play one side against the other?"

"Yeah, but to what end? I don't get it!" There was a note of frustration in Nikki's voice. "Why come after us?"

"Because we've obviously got a piece of information that they don't want us to have." David frowned. "Trouble is, we got _too _much information here, Col. How do we know what's real and what ain't?"

"Oh, you can never have _too much _data!" Charlie grinned happily. "In fact, the more data you have the…better…it…um…" He stopped, glancing apologetically at Don. "I can start collating everything we have, see if I can work out who's sitting next to whom. Hypothetically speaking, that is."

Don smiled benignly at his brother. "That would be great, bro."

"I'll get Amita to help me. Um, yeah. I'll…I'll go do that now…" Charlie grinned briefly and ducked back out of the door.

"We know everything keeps pointing back to O'Neils, that much is certain." Nikki sat back on the edge of a table. "I've done some digging. O'Neils has a bit of a reputation for employing ex soldiers with experience of demolitions. Half their crew are ex military."

"Col, a lot of guys came back from Afghanistan feeling pretty disenfranchised, mate." Micky looked at his friend. "It wouldn't take much to persuade the more suggestible of them to do a little work on the side. Even if they didn't know who for or why. We've got employees from the firm on watch lists for membership of militia groups, direct links to at least one murder and several attempts and I'm willing to bet a week's pay that the buggers in that SUV had a connection to the bloody place as well, mate. You said Lawrence didn't have any idea what you were talking about when you told him to back his guys off?"

Colby shook his head. "Yeah. He claimed they weren't his. I should've listened to him, man."

"Which means they knew which number plate to clone to point you in precisely the wrong direction, mate. Which _means_, they have inside intel." Micky frowned. "So what we gotta ask ourselves is, what is that one single piece of information that we have in amongst all this other chatter that they're so fuckin' worried about?"

Colby looked thoughtful and paced quietly. "Tyler. Tyler said he knew Andy from somewhere." He looked up. "Where's Tyler, Don?"

"Interrogation room one."

"Then I think it's about time we had a chat with him, huh?" A slow, lazy smile spread across his lips. Micky nodded, briefly flashing his friend a dark smile in response…

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Mark Tyler sat quietly, his hands resting on the table. He glanced up as the door opened and smiled broadly. "Col! You okay, buddy?"

"Yeah. Oh, I'm _fine, buddy.._." Colby sat down quietly opposite the man. "Okay Mark. Question. When we were in that room, you said you knew Andy Thompson. Where from?"

"A briefing at Langley. I didn't know who he was then…"

"What kinda briefing?"

"Sorry, bud…"

Colby's hand slammed down on the table and he stood up suddenly, a snarl on his face. "Don't BULLSHIT me, Mark!" Micky moved quickly, positioning himself between the two men. He threw a warning look at Colby and shook his head, making sure that Tyler saw it clearly…

Colby sat back down, his eyes never leaving Tyler. "What kinda briefing, Mark?"

"The kind that makes you wonder who the fuck is running the circus, Granger." He glanced nervously at the unknown man. Micky merely stared at the edgy man and melted back into the shadows. Mark's eyes flickered towards Micky a couple of times, unsure as to the man's role in this interrogation…

"Focus on me, Mark. Why was Andy there?"

"I don't know. I didn't even know his name, bud."

"Corporal Andrew David Thompson. Her Majesty's British Army." Micky's voice was quiet.

"He was a _Brit_?"

"He was one of _my mates_, old son." Micky fell silent, letting this information sink in.

"So tell me Mark. What would an SAS soldier be doing at a CIA briefing?" Colby spoke again and Mark's attention flickered back to the big American.

"I…I have no idea. I mean, the Brits have been working pretty closely with us for a while, so…"

"Let's try another one shall we?" Colby sat back. "You were talking to Burkess before we kicked the door in. He's got your sister. Why?"

"Because he thinks he can use it as leverage against me. He's threatened to kill her…"

"Yeah, convenient we overheard that, huh?"

"I don't know what you mean…"

"You seem remarkably unconcerned about the welfare of your sister, Mark." Colby's eyes were cold and emotionless.

"Are you _crazy_? I'm going out of my mind with worry here!"

"Really?" Colby glanced at his friend. "Does he look like a man who's going out of his mind with worry, Mick?"

"Nah." Micky shook his head. "He looks positively _serene_, mate."

"This is bullshit, Colby…"

"You're lying to me, Mark. You're lying about knowing Andy. You're lying about your sister being kidnapped. You're lying about _everything_, Mark. Who set fire to the Community Centre?"

"I don't know!"

"Who killed Andy Thompson, Mark?"

"I…"

"_Who killed Andy Thompson, Mark?_" The dangerous tone of Colby's voice unnerved Mark.

"He asked you a question, pal. One I'd like an answer to so I can shoot the fucker myself." Micky's tone held the same dangerous note. "Was it you, Mark? Did you arrange that whole little storyhouse yourself? Trying to get Col and the lads there so your bosses could take 'em out? What is it, are we getting just a little bit too close to the truth, mate?"

"You were pretty careless about using your cell phone, Mark. Found it real easy to track you. Actually, a first year rookie could've found you. Yet you claim you'd been holed up there for days. Then you give me all that bullshit about regime change? And Langley wanting Obama out? Then next thing we know, we're cookin' like a bunch of prime rib-eye steaks on a fuckin' barbecue, ain't we? Trouble is, your paymasters saw it as an opportunity to get rid of you as well, didn't they?" Colby leaned forward. "You're running out of friends, Mark." The green eyes bored into Mark, stripping away lie after lie…

Mark suddenly stood up, pushing the chair violently backwards. Micky moved frighteningly quickly, grabbing the man's arm and forcing it up his back. His other hand cupped around the back of Tyler's head and he slammed the man face down onto the table. He hissed in the man's ear. "_Answer_ the nice gentleman, Marky Mark!"

"I don't know what you're talking about!" There was a note of despair in the man's voice. "I swear!"

"Let him go, Mick." Colby nodded and Micky stepped back, melting once again into the shadows of the room. "Sit down, Mark." Mark stood up slowly, his eyes never leaving Colby. "I _said, _sit down." Tyler groped backwards, pulling the chair towards him and sitting down slowly. "I'm gonna make this _real _simple for you, Mark. You tell me everything. Right from the top. You leave nothing out. _Nothing_." He suddenly smiled brightly at the man. "Or I'll make sure your buddies back in Washington know _exactly _where to find you, pal. And I'm guessing once they find out you've been talking to us, that ain't gonna bode well for your sister, right?"

Mark Tyler took a deep breath. He looked straight at Colby and for a moment, Colby saw a man clearly coming to a decision. "Everything I told you in that room was true, Colby. On my honour as a Marine. They've got something big planned for LA. Something that they're calling Obama's nine eleven. The only thing I know for sure is that it's operational name is Enigma. Colby, I swear to you. I'm telling the truth. Yeah, they did want me to contact you and give you some bullshit disinformation. You're getting too close to them, man. And they'll do everything they can to stop you. They're calling in favours all over the place, Col. The Irish, the militia, everyone. Thing is, things have started unravelling. They thought they'd be able to use the contacts they had to orchestrate the whole goddamn situation. They didn't realise that it would break down into a goddamn war before they could play out their endgame."

"And what's their endgame, Mark?"

Mark sat back, a frightened look on his face. "LA in flames, brother. LA in fuckin' _flames_…"

The door opened suddenly and Don burst in, a deadly serious look on his face. Behind him, Colby and Micky could hear the normally relatively organised chaos of the Bullpen going into overdrive. The incessant ringing of phones and the yelp of a general alarm raised the noisy office to a cacophony of sound. "Col? Balloon's gone up, buddy. I need you _right now_…"

**_TBC……_**


	21. Muddying the Waters

Disclaimer:

Usual disclaimer applies. Choose from the following list of options:

I have nothing whatsoever to do with Numb3rs.

Are you kidding me? Do you think if I was getting paid I'd write this crap?

This isn't my house…

My meds have worn off and I'm doing it again…

The story and Brit-pack characters are mine and I'll practice my Krav Maga moves on anyone who says otherwise. Usual warning for bad language, some nifty KM moves by Micky 'Take _that!_' Cox and unintelligible Cockney slang apply. For those of you waiting for the return of Marcus Bowen, he's back next chapter but gets an honourable mention in despatches in this one.

Roll credits and wonky Numb3rs board…

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"Micky, keep eyes on our guest, bud." Colby stood up quickly. He nodded to Micky and the Englishman responded to his silent gesture, moving out of earshot of the man. To be sure, Colby lapsed into Albanian. He knew Micky spoke the language. He was pretty sure Tyler didn't…"No rough stuff, Micky. Well, nothing that will leave a mark, okay? Find out exactly what he knows. Ya know. In your own, inimitable _British _way." Colby flashed his friend a nasty grin.

"Understood. Head-fuck time. Copy that." Micky's Albanian was excellent. He glanced over at Tyler. "That son of a bitch isn't telling us everything, Col. Enigma's way above his clearance level. That was just name-dropping to buy time."

Colby frowned and nodded. "Agreed. Find out why. And then make sure you isolate the bastard. I don't want him having contact with anyone other than you and me, crystal?" He patted his friend on the shoulder and threw one last look at Tyler. "Micky here is gonna look after ya for a bit, bud, okay?" Tyler nodded and gave him a thumb's up.

"Not a problem, Col."

Micky frowned and turned to one side, again lapsing into Albanian. "Doesn't it strike you as just a tiny bit odd as to how excessively friendly he's being, big guy?"

Granger responded in the sharp tones of Albanian to keep Tyler off balance and unaware of their conversation. "Friendly's good, Mick." Colby's voice took on a dangerous edge. "So hey, let's keep it _nice and friendly _too, right?"

A slow, nasty smile spread across Micky's lips. "Oh absolutely. Friendly. I can _so _do friendly…"

Colby chuckled quietly. He knew what Micky's 'friendly' could be anything but…

Micky Cox shut the door quietly as Colby left and turned to Tyler. The American studied his interrogator, trying to get the measure of this unknown quantity. English, he was sure of that. Probably military. Powerfully built, obviously at least bi-lingual – god alone knows what they'd been jabbering on in at each other. MI6 maybe? Military intelligence? Wait…Granger had said that Thompson was SAS. Did that mean that this Micky was too? Tyler didn't have any handle on the man. All he knew right now was that the man was a friend of Andy Thompson. And that gave him enough reason to be very, _very _nervous. This was all starting to unravel…

Micky leaned back casually against the door. "Col's gonna be a bit busy for a while, so it looks like it's just you and me, old son." The strong accent was difficult to place, but he'd heard it before. The Englishwoman. Colby's girlfriend. She'd had the same lilt to her voice. A Londoner, perhaps? Tyler was desperately trying to piece together some kind of a profile of his interrogator. Without that framework, he didn't know which game to play. Or if any game he tried would work…

"What's goin' down, bud?"

"Fuck knows. Large lump of crap impacting somewhat forcefully into a fan, by the sounds of it." Micky pushed himself off the doorframe and strolled casually around to the opposite side of the table.

"So what do we do now?"

"How about a nice, friendly chat?"

"What like earlier, you mean?" Tyler's eyes narrowed. He hadn't forgotten the speed with which the man had moved, slamming him face first into the hard surface of the table. "You ain't FBI. You ain't got any influence here, buddy."

"Oh, you'd be _surprised _just how much influence I actually have, _buddy._ Micky's normally friendly face darkened." He paced slowly, his powerful arms crossed over his chest. "So who _is_ running the circus then, Marky Mark?" He shot a look at Tyler.

"What?"

"You said to Col that the briefing at Langley made you wonder who was running the circus."

"And?"

"Wanna tell me a bit more about this briefing, mucker?"

"Classified, buddy. Sorry."

"Oh, I bet you a barn cake to a wine gum my clearance goes _way _higher than your's, gofer boy."

"What does that even _mean_?"

Micky had been carefully closing the blinds on the interrogation room windows. He casually reached up and appeared to disconnect the camera. "It means, old son, that you are going to tell me _everything_." He turned abruptly and Tyler was confronted with a pair of ice blue, freezing cold and utterly ruthless eyes boring right through into his very soul. That same chilling look that he'd seen in Colby's eyes more than once. A look that told him that things were about to get very unpleasant for him… "Let me explain how this goes, Tyler. We know that you've been feeding us a crock of shite from the get go." Micky dragged out the spare chair with his foot and sat down. "But here's the bugger for you, old son. I'm a Brit. We _invented _all this kinda shite, mate. Your lot? They learned everything they know about espionage from us. _We taught them_, Marky Mark. You know the saying never try and con a conman?" He leaned in. "Well, me? I'm a fully paid up, card-carrying conman, mate. I learned from the _best_, my friend. I learned from Colby Granger and Dee Armstrong. So that makes me pretty damn good at sniffing out a big pile of steaming horsepoo when I think there's one right in front of me, my old china. You've been oh so bloody careful to make yourself seem like a good guy, haven't you? Rescuing the lads from a blazing building? Playing the hero? Shame it all went pear-shaped, huh? But not as fuckin' pair-shaped as it went for Andy." A vicious snarl curled across his lips. "Andy was my _mate_, Tyler. My _oppo_. He was _Regiment_. Do you know what that means?"

"It means you're pissed. I understand that. I'd be pissed if he'd been a Marine. I understand about loyalty, Agent…I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name…"

"No, you didn't, did you? And my, you're everso _understandin_', ain't ya?" Micky sat back for a moment, studying the man, looking for the 'tells', looking for a crack that he could work at. The sister. He knew the whole 'my sister's being held hostage' was just such a pile of horsepoo, but his presence at the Langley briefing had been true. It was a start. Work through the lies and you'd eventually tie the bastard in enough knots that he'd inadvertently give you the truth… "So let's try again. The briefing. What were you doing there?"

"Our department was ordered to carry out background checks on a bunch of Langley bods they suspected of running a black ops codenamed Enigma. They never told us what the operation was, just the name."

"What did you think it meant, Marky?"

"I just thought it was the usual, ya know. Rogue agents gone native somewhere."

"And Andy?"

"He was just there, man. I didn't know who he was."

"Really?"

"Really. I figured it was the usual 'hands across the ocean' crap, ya know, your people working with ours…look…" Tyler sighed. "Could I have a drink please? Some water, maybe?"

"Nope."

"Oh, c'mon, man…"

"Earn it."

"Don't fuck with me, Limey!" A flash of anger replaced the mask of helpful friendliness for a split second. "All I want is a fuckin' drink, for Chrissake!" Tyler slammed a fist onto the table, and snarled across at Micky. "I've given you everything I know, man! _Everything_! I think I've at least _earned _a drink of water!"

"Not in my book you ain't. And as for telling me everything…" Micky let out a short laugh. "You've told me everything you were _told_ to tell us, Marky Mark. The bullshit about your sister being kidnapped? The little nuggets here and there of supposedly useful intel? Name-dropping an operation code you supposedly know _fuck all _about?" The joviality evaporated and in a heartbeat Micky Cox had reached across the table, grabbing the man's throat with his right hand and Tyler's own right hand with his left. In a sharp move, he had twisted the man's body across himself, rendering him unable to move while the thumb and forefinger of his right hand squeezed just below Tyler's Adam's apple. Tyler instantly found himself with his left cheek flat on the cold surface of the table, his body twisted agonisingly and choking for air. The man was definitely Special Forces. That Krav Maga move was one he'd been taught himself and one that was remarkably effective, insanely painful and left _no mark_…

Cox was on his feet, leaning into the hold, his mouth next to Tyler's right ear. The words were hissed, full of venom and menace. "You're _lying, _Marky Mark! You're a fuckin' _liar_! Granger saw through it, _I _can see through it! You're a shite liar, Mark!" A quick jerk raised and smashed Tyler's head back onto the table. "Really shite! And I'm sick to the back teeth of hearing bullshit lie after bullshit lie come out of your north and south, mate! So let's…try…_again_!" Three times more, Tyler's head slammed onto the table. "The briefing. Tell me what you were doing there!"

Tyler panted, gasping for breath. Slow, dark madness crept into his mind. This shouldn't be happening. They'd told him he'd be believed. They'd told him it would be a simple matter of convincing the FBI agents that there was some secret Washington conspiracy to put LA to the torch. They said 'use your sister. Tell them we have her. _Convince them'_. They'd _promised _that Thompson, Granger and Armstrong would be taken out of the picture – that Thompson and Granger would never make it out of Kosovo alive and that Armstrong and any other lose ends would be taken care of and it would be made to look like Al Q'eda or the Irish or _someone, anyone_… They'd promised that, if he played his part, the distressed agent, worried for his sister's life and distraught at the thought of nameless, faceless somebodys committing treason, that he'd be looked after. That financially he'd be made for life. They'd _promised_.

They hadn't factored on Micky Cox being part of the equation…

"I SWEAR! I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT!"

"Swear all you like, Marky Mark. Tell me you don't know all you like, mate. I know different. Wanna know how I know? _Because I know all about fuckin' Operation Enigma, mate! I was one of the buggers who worked on it! _It was a ruse, Marky Mark! A bluff. A what if situation. What, you thought it was _real_? Wow, you really are stupid, aint' ya?_" _Micky let this sink in for a moment. Wait for the right time, wait until your opponent had talked themselves into a lie you _knew _to be false. Let them talk it so much that _they _start to believe it themselves. Then let your opponent know you know more about the situation than they thought you did. Colby had taught him that one. Worked every time. Tyler knew he was trapped. He knew he'd been 'busted', as Granger liked to put it. Slowly, Micky let go of Tyler's throat and casually sat back down, letting the dishevelled man regain his composure. He knew now that Tyler was completely off balance. He knew now that at last, they had a chance of finding out the truth…

Mark Tyler sat up slowly, rubbing his throat and glaring at the Englishman. The pretence was gone. Open hostility replaced his previously 'over-eager to please' act. There was no point any more. He knew he'd never get out of this alive. Fuck it. Let them know what kind of a death they could all expect. Give them the slow, creeping anticipation of a bullet, coming out of nowhere, never knowing when, never knowing who pulled the trigger… A lazy smile spread across Mark Tyler's face. Get Granger's trust, they'd told him. He'd done that. He'd gotten close to the agents his masters considered most dangerous to their plan. The agents that couldn't be bought, couldn't be bribed, couldn't be convinced to look the other way. He'd done that. The rest was up to others to finish. He knew they were all marked men. It was only a matter of time…

He'd plotted up in the community centre and, once he'd got the signal from his bosses, he'd set the cameras up. He'd watched Granger and the others wait outside his door. So he'd had the 'please don't hurt her!' pretend conversation with the shadowy Burkess. He'd made sure they'd heard it. Lure the flies into the web…

"Clever, Limey. Very clever. But it won't help. You know that, right? All your friends out there?" He laughed. "They haven't got a clue, have they? They're all running around, chasing bombers, terrorists that don't exist…But you…" he wagged a finger at the Englishman. "Oh, you _know_, don't you? Same as Thompson did. He knew. Stupid fucker was supposed to die in Kosovo but oh no, he had to come back alive, didn't he? I admit, I didn't expect that goddamn fire escape to collapse, so helping Granger's friends get out of the community centre was purely to save my own ass, _dickwipe_! The whole point was to take Granger and Thompson out. And they'll keep trying, buddy. Oh, trust me, they'll _keep _trying until they get _every last one of you_! There's no way a bunch of fuck-assed ex grunts are gonna stop this from happening, buddy. And you?" He wagged his finger at Micky again. "You just made the list too, my friend! Oh _hell _yeah, you're on the _fuckin' list_!"

Tyler sat back and smiled enigmatically. "Operation Enigma was the perfect cover. Set the internal investigation lot off chasing ghosts, give 'em plenty to keep 'em occupied, yeah sure, there was bound to be a bit of collateral damage, but hey, who's gonna miss a few shitty little gang-bangers, huh? A few bombs here, a bit of Internet chatter of a potential terrorist plot there and suddenly you're all off chasing shadows." He leaned forward. "But what goes on _behind _the shadows, Limey? Huh? Who really _is _runnin' the circus? Because it sure as hell ain't that bleeding heart fuckin' liberal Obama and his pussy-assed cronies, bud. _We _run the circus, Limey! _We _run it!" Tyler sat back and started to laugh. It was all over for him. He didn't care any more. He hadn't cared since he came back from that stinking Afghan hellhole three years before.

Micky had been right. There had been a lot of disenfranchised, damaged and angry men coming back from that war. And Mark Tyler had been one of them…

"So all of this was just a few spooked out fuckwits trying to tie up some lose ends?" Micky was stunned. He couldn't believe the lengths some people would go to to protect their own backsides…

"Lose ends? You call people like Granger a _lose end_?" Tyler let out a laugh. "If that was the case, we'd have just shot the son of a bitch!" But that would leave even more lose ends flapping in the wind, wouldn't it? This way? It all gets muddied in the waters. _That's _what this is all about, my friend. Muddying the waters."

"Let me guess. And it would've worked if it wasn't for us pesky kids, right?"

Tyler leaned in, a crazed glint in his eyes. "Who says it _hasn't worked_?"

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Don stood at his desk, a phone pressed to his ear. All around him, agents checked databases, fielded phonecalls and generally tried to make sense of the chaos that had blown up. Literally. In the background, a plasma screen permanently switched to the rolling news channel showed the raging inferno and crater that was once O'Neils Demolition. The place had gone up like a low-yield nuclear bomb. There had been enough high explosive stored in the place to level a city block.

Colby stared at the screen, a sinking feeling twisting his guts into knots. The one lead they'd had was now a smoking, blazing ruin. He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned, looking straight into the serious blue eyes of Micky Cox. "Need to have speaks with you, old son. Right now."

Micky led Colby into a side room and shut the door. "Mick, we're right in the middle of something here, buddy…"

"Not important."

"Not _important_? Are you _kidding me_? O'Neils has just gone up like fuckin' Hiroshima and you're saying it's not…"

"Col, trust me, it's a red herring. It's all been one giant red herring from start to finish, mate!"

"Okay, not sure about the fish reference…"

"They're going after you, Col. You, me, Dee, everyone they think they can't buy off. Everyone they're scared of. And I'm sorry mate, but that means your team as well. You've got too bloody good, old son. Tyler's lost it. Remember I said some of us came back from Afghanistan pretty screwed up? Yeah, well, there's none more royally fucked up than our loyal Marine in there, mate. He's been under orders to get close to you for months. Ever since the whole Amber Room shitstorm. You've poked a hornet's nest mate, and they're comin' out stinging."

Colby sat back on the edge of a table. He felt like his legs were about to give way under him. "Explain." His voice was hoarse.

"You've made some pretty bloody powerful enemies, Col. Enemies that don't like the way you have of digging down underneath all the dirt and finding out the truth about some pretty shady goings on. Enemies that don't give a flying fuck about collateral damage, mate. Tyler said that this was all about muddying the waters to such an extent that if you got killed in the crossfire, they'd have complete deniability, you'd be remembered as a hero for trying to stop a terrorist plot against the city of LA, yada yada, posthumous medals, shit like that. And nobody would bother digging deeper to find out who was really behind it all."

"Mick…"

"Colby, there's _no _terrorist plot, mate! There's no balloon about to go up, there's _nothing_! It's all fuckin' smoke and mirrors, Col!" Micky sounded angry – more angry than Colby had ever heard him before. "And they don't give a shit who gets hurt. Innocent civvies, your friends, your colleagues…anyone in the way gets took down!" Micky rubbed a hand across his face and started to pace. "Look. Remember when all this kicked off, you thought there was something hinky about it from the get go?"

"Yeah…"

"And what's the best way to get to your enemies without being noticed?"

"Create a diversion…"

"One fuck off _big _diversion, mate. Look, you and I both know that our people deal with some pretty shady characters, right?"

"As much as I hate to admit it, yeah. Your point?"

"And remember Dee said it's better to have someone inside the tent pissing out than someone outside the tent pissing in?"

"For fuck's sake, Micky!"

"_Think _about it, Col! Your trip to Kosovo? These people are powerful enough to get an exec order through the army recalling you to send you on some crazy-arsed suicide mission to go collect a load of dis-information. They knew it would fuck your head up going back out there, hopefully fuck your head up enough for you to make a pig's ear of the whole mission. But they weren't counting on all of you coming back alive, Col. In case you did, they had contingency plans in place all over the shop to send you off chasing your tails in different directions." Micky was pacing angrily as he spoke. "As soon as they found out that me and Dee had been covering your arses via satellite, they knew we were in on the game. That's why they tried to wipe us out afterwards. We left 'em a paper trail that led straight back to here, mate. And I'm sorry about that, old son, I really am. I didn't think they'd go as far as they did."

"Tyler?" Colby's head was spinning as he tried to process the information.

"Tyler was a contingency plan. He was plan fuckin' _B_, Col. The bomb that nearly took out me and Dee? Arranged by them, mate. Point a few ex-IRA bastards with a grudge in the direction of a couple of old adversaries, tell 'em to have at it, knock themselves out with a couple of blocks of C4 and a detonator and poof! There goes a couple of lose ends. The IRA get the blame, we're left as bloody corpses on the café floor and there's at least two problems solved. Any of your team that survived would find a trail back to the IRA and nothing else. Next, you and Andy don't die in Kosovo like you were supposed to, so, poof! Kick in another tragic incident say, oh, like a fire at the community centre and there's two more problems dealt with. Don and his team are left beside themselves with grief at the loss of fallen comrades, believing it was all some convoluted terrorist plot that never came to fruition, you get a star on the wall and a top knotch funeral all expenses paid by a supposedly grateful government, but _nobody digs any deeper_! And if they do? Well, hey, these people can arrange _anything_, Col. Any-damn-thing they want!"

Colby felt physically sick. "People are _dying_, Micky! For Christ's sake!"

"Like they give a shit!"

"But…that's the whole point, Mick. Who are _they_?"

Micky was quiet for a moment. "That I don't know, Col. The only name we've got is Walter Burkess. And that could just be another fuckin' smoky bloody mirror, mate." Micky sighed deeply and leaned back against the wall. He looked exhausted, frustrated and, for the first time ever, scared. He looked up at his friend, deep concern on his face. "Right now? We're all walking around with bloody great targets on our backs. And mate? I have absolutely no bloody idea who's aiming at us."

"I can find out."

Micky looked up sharply. "What? _How_?"

Colby frowned, deep in thought. "There's one person I know I can trust in Langley. Lawrence. Lawrence Gibbs."

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure."

The two men fell silent. Colby felt like the walls were closing in on him. People around him – people he cared about – were at huge risk because someone, somewhere, wanted him dead. What had he stumbled upon that had so worried certain parties that they were willing to go to such extremes to eradicate him?

The same thought crossed Micky's mind. "Col, what do you know, mate? _What do you know_ that's _so fuckin' scary_ to them that they're prepared to go to these kinda lengths to stop you from uncovering it?"

"I don't know, Mick, I swear to God I don't know."

"Then I suggest you start thinking pretty damn hard, Colby." Don's voice was quiet. The two men's conversation had been so intense that they had failed to notice his silent entrance into the room. He looked deeply concerned and walked over to the younger man, laying a gentle hand on his friend's shoulder.

Colby looked at Don, an expression of desperate sadness in his eyes. "Don…I'm so sorry, man. I swear…"

"Col, it's not your fault, bud. Okay? _Okay_? You're not the bad guy here!" Don gripped the man's shoulder firmly.

"No Don, it _is _my fault. It's my fault that everyone here's on a goddamn list, bud." A look of dark determination came into his eyes. Suddenly, Don felt the powerful muscles of the young man's shoulder tense. "And it's time we stopped playing their stupid damn games, too."

"What ya thinkin', mate?" Micky's voice was quiet and calm. He knew how Granger worked…

"Time to start playing games of our own, Mick. We've been runnin' scared from these bastards for too long." He looked at Don. "Don, I need you to run with me on this, bud."

"Talk to me, Col."

"Carry on investigating O'Neils like they expect. But I need to drop offgrid for a bit. Just 24 hours, Don. That's all I need."

"You ain't going in solo, Granger. Not on my bloody watch. Dee would have my bollocks in a mangle." Micky's voice was hard.

"I agree." Don nodded. "And there's no point trying to make any kind of argument otherwise, bud. You're damn good buddy, but you're going up against some real first class greasy sons of bitches here, Colby."

"Trouble is, if we use any of your people, our bad guys are gonna be all over it in a heartbeat. We have to assume your unit's been compromised. Good job we've got Marcus and Doug on their way over, then, aih?" Micky winked.

"What?" Colby scowled at his friend.

"Mate, we thought something was off about this whole thing from the moment you got the Kosovo gig. Doug's an intelligence expert, don't let him tell you otherwise or fool you with that, 'I just jump out of planes raining death and destruction on people's heads' crap. And Marcus? Well, he's one of the best men to have at your back you could wish for and a first rate sniper." Micky's face darkened. "They won't be expecting _our _people, mate. We go at them sideways. Your team carries on with your own façade of chasing down supposed terrorists. Create our own diversion. If anyone asks, Colby's home getting some rest. They'll believe that. After all, you've been on the go for like, two weeks non-stop."

Don nodded. "We'll cover for you, Col. 24 hours, no more than that, clear?"

Colby grinned. "Just make sure the cavalry's standing by, Don, okay?"

"Saddled up and ready to ride, bud!" He patted Colby on the shoulder. "Do whatever you need to do, Col. Just…be careful, okay? And find some way to keep me looped in right through. We're gonna need it further down the line. I don't want anything covered up, Col. I want to see these bastards in the cold light of day with a pair of bracelets on, understand?"

Colby nodded slowly. "When are Marcus and Doug due in?"

"They should be landing in about…" Micky glanced at his watch. "Oh, about twenty minutes ago. And Marcus is a damn good comms man. He'll find a way of getting everything through to you without being compromised, Don."

"Good." Don nodded. "What about Tyler?"

"He thinks that interview wasn't taped. It was. I left the camera running. If you could, a-hem, _edit out_ the rather forceful bits, that'd be good, though." Micky flashed a grin at Don. "The rest is totally useable. Full confession, mate."

"I need to make a call." Colby stood up and looked at Don. "Bud, I need you to keep this to yourself, okay? Not even David."

"Col…"

"The less he knows, the better. I'll square it with him if we all live through this."

Don frowned deeply but nodded. "Okay. What's your plan?"

Colby shrugged. "A meet and greet, Don."

"What? Are you _kidding _me?"

"No. Get them out in the open. Tell 'em I've got something they want."

"Which is?"

Colby's normally gentle, green eyes hardened. "Me, Don. _I'm gonna give 'em me_…"

_**TBC…**_


	22. The Art of War

Disclaimer:

Usual applies. Me no owny nuffink to do with Numb3rs. I do own the story and the Brits. Usual warning for bad language and unintelligable Cockney slang, although no violence in this one.

Oh, and, after three 'seasons', I think it's about time we had a Colby!Shower scene, don't you? Don't worry, it's not gratuitous in any way, shape or form. There _is_ a plotline involved. No, honestly. I mean, do I really strike you as the sort of person who would put a 'naked in the shower, lots of bubbles/steam and _lather_' scene in just to pull in the fangirl vote? Hell no! Plot device?_ Me?_ With _my _reputation? I can categorically state that no artistic integrity was harmed in the writing of this gratu...a-hem..._totally necessary _shower scene. Enjoy…

EDIT: British slang clarification for those of you not of this fair land:

Pissed off - Annoyed.

Pissed as hell - VERY annoyed.

Pissed up - Drunk

Kecks - clothes

Military terminology: RTU - Returned to Unit

Anything else, you're on your own...

Roll credits and wonky Numb3rs board…

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"He's planning to do _what_?" Diane ignored the pain of sudden movement and dragged herself upright on the bed. Her intense, emerald-green eyes bored into Micky Cox, the laser-beam stare giving the Englishman no quarter. "Get me some clothes."

"Guv…"

"_Now_, Micky. _Right now_!"

"Guv, listen to me. He knows what he's doing."

"No, Cox, he _doesn't_. He's not thinking rationally. You know as well as I do he's running on pure adrenaline and bugger all else right now. This is madness!" She swore passionately as the IV drip in her arm pulled at her skin. "What the hell does he think he is? Some kind of sacrificial sodding lamb? Bloody hell Mick, this is absolute _lunacy_!"

"What would _you do_, Dee?" Micky's voice was calm and measured. Colby knew that Diane would be furious at his blatant exposure to a hostile situation that he had no way of predicting the outcome of. He'd sent Micky in to break the news. In this instance, he knew it would be better coming from Micky rather than from him. Micky had been one of the few other people who could 'talk her down off the ledge' when needed. Granger knew how highly Diane valued Micky Cox's opinion. He was counting on his friend to explain the situation to her rationally, calmly…

It wasn't going well.

"_Bollocks_, Micky! Complete and utter _bollocks_! And, _certainly _not bloody relevant…"

"No, Dee, it's a _totally _relevant question, Guv. You and him? You're straight out of the same playbook. You know the game as well as he does." Micky carefully sat on the edge of the bed and laid a gentle hand on her arm. "What would you do if you were in his position, love? Look, I know you and him are a right pair of hotheads when you want to be…" Micky held a hand up. "A-a-a, you interrupt and I'll pull yer bloody IV out and throttle you with it, Guv. Just listen to me, okay? But in this instance, he's right. The only way is to flush the quarry out into the open. Colby knows exactly what he's doing. He's got me, Doug and Marcus with him every single step of the way. Col's coming up with a battle plan right now. You _know_ we work well together. He's got faith in your ability, right?" Diane nodded. "Well, sweetheart, you've got to have a bit more faith in _his_."

"That's not fair, Micky." Diane's voice was quiet. "You know perfectly well I have absolute faith in Colby. _And _in you, mate."

Micky smiled kindly. "I know, love. I know. Look, Dee, I _promise _you. We've got his back."

Dee was silent for a moment, lost in her own thoughts. Finally, she looked up, a dark cast to her eyes and a set determination to her jaw. "And who's got _your _back, Micky?"

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"So how tempted were you to say to that customs official at the airport when he asked us the purpose of our visit to say, 'oh, facilitate the possible downfall of one of your most important government security agencies before they have a chance to bring down your president', then Doug?" Marcus Bowen grinned briefly as the satnav barked instructions to 'turn left'.

Doug Cross laughed heartily. "Yep. Add to that 'and of course, to see your rather magnificent Grand Canyon', old chap!"

"Bloody tourist."

"Bloody amateur."

Marcus scowled briefly as the satnav interrupted their banter. "Where the buggerin' hell are we anyway?"

"Judging by the look on your face, Marky boy, I'd take a rough guess at directionally challenged."

"Bollocks."

"You're lost."

"I _am not 'lost'! _I'm…"

"…As I said, directionally challenged? Unaware of your specific location in space and time? Unable to specify your precise co-ordinates if your bloody life _depended _on it? You are, in fact, as stated earlier, _lost_?"

"I'm in LA. I know that much."

Doug sighed deeply. "Okay, you Luddite, see dat der little box on the dash? That's called a S-a-t-n-a-v. They tell you where to go…"

"I'm gonna bloody tell _you _where to go in a minute, you sarcastic bugger!"

"You're not a big reader, are you Marky?"

"Call me Marky _one more time_…"

Doug laughed and peered at the satnav screen. "Head north. And perhaps you could remember that these good people drive on the _right_, occasionally."

"What the fuck would you know? You spend all your bloody time jumping out of perfectly good aeroplanes, so you're in no position to question my driving skills, you bloody lunatic! Christ, Doug, you do it for _fun_!"

"No rush on earth like the one you get when you pull that rip-cord, Bowzer. Never knowing if your silk's gonna open or not? Seeing the ground rush up towards you? Best high ever, mate."

Marcus grinned briefly. "Okay, so if you're so into leaping from perfectly good and fully operational aeroplanes just for the hell of it, why are you such a lousy passenger?"

"What?"

"On the way over here. You damn near tore the armrests off that seat on the plane, Doug."

"I…" Doug looked embarrassed for a moment. "I don't like flying commercial."

"Why not?"

"Because, my dear northern monkey, they _don't give you a bloody parachute_!"

Marcus glanced in disbelief at his friend, a sarcastic smile playing around his dark features and a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "You're…bloody weird, Crossy, you know that?"

"It has been remarked upon, yes. Satnav say _left_, Marky boy."

"Satnavs lie. Give me a good, old fashioned map any day. And _don't _compound the insult of Marky by suffixing it with the word _boy_, or I'll batter the shite out of you, you soft southern pansy!"

"You want to phone Colby and tell him we're lost or shall I, then? Turn _left_, you northern idiot!"

"Where? Where, _exactly_, am I supposed to turn? Huh? Do you see a left turn?"

"What, you mean apart from the _one you just missed_?"

"Oh, _bollocks_! Bollockin' bloody bastardin' left bloody bollockin' turns!"

"Was that you or the satnav?"

"Fuck off, Cross, and get me some bloody co-ordinates or a direction or a landmark or _fuckin' anything_!"

"Are we nearly there yet?"

"Fuck _off, Doug!"_

Doug Cross laughed again and studied the satnav's screen. He glanced around, taking in the skyline of LA and noting their location. Eventually he pointed. "See that building over there? That's County General Hospital. That's our meet point for Micky and to get up to speed with Dee. Head for that."

"_Finally_!" Marcus Bowen took the off ramp and headed towards the hospital. He stared thoughtfully out of the window and his voice took on a soft, concerned tone. "Dee's gonna be pissed off about all this, Doug."

"Captain Diane Armstrong has spent her entire bloody life being pissed off at things, dear boy. So no change there then. Besides, that's when she's at her best, mate. Chuck a left at the next junction…OTHER SIDE OF THE ROAD MARCUS! OTHER SIDE OF THE _ROAD! _For FUCK'S sake!" Doug grabbed wildly at the handgrip on the side of the door as Marcus slued over to the right amidst a cacophony of blaring car horns. "_Jesus_!"

"Bloody yanks. Drive on the wrong side of the road! What's wrong with them?"

"They've never encountered a Manchester born idiot with no sense of direction and who can't tell his left from his_ bloody right _before, you pillock!" Doug Cross rolled his eyes and sighed. "I swear Marcus, you couldn't find your arse with both hands and a blasted atlas!"

"Right then. If that's the case, why don't _you_ bloody drive?"

"Because I'm a pilot and a paratrooper Marcus, not a bleedin' chauffeur and besides, we're there." Doug pointed at the entrance to the hospital and sat back in the passenger seat, sighing deeply. "Longest bloody journey of my life. Never, _ever _again, Bowen, I swear. I am _never _getting in any kind of vehicle with you at the wheel ever again. Did you actually _miss _the practical part of your driving test? And for the record? Next time? Sod the difference in altitude, I _am _driving, you numbnut! Park up over there. Let's get moving."

The banter died and the two men's demeanour immediately changed. They were here to do a job, not argue about Marcus's inability to navigate the streets of LA…

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Colby sat lost in thought. He hadn't bothered to turn the light on in his apartment as he got home. Best not to alert too many people to his presence right now, you never knew who was watching…

The dim shadows crept in around him, smothering out all outside influences and allowing him to 'zone in' on the situation. Too much had gone wrong. Too many people had been hurt or killed. For what? What could they possibly hope to achieve by making the FBI look like a bunch of amateurs chasing their own asses all over LA? Why try to waste so much time? Why so many diversions, misleads, dead ends, so much damn _bullshit_? Colby's head dropped and he rubbed at his temples. He had one of his 'headaches' coming on. Now was not the time to start suffering a batch of cluster migraines and he willed the throbbing in his head to recede back into a fuzzy numbness. He needed to think. Clearly. That was difficult, seeing as he was so short on sleep and ideas right now… He sighed and sat back on the couch, one hand covering his eyes from any scrap of light that might set off the throbbing headache into a full-blown migraine. Even the damn headache was a part of all this. The fracture to his eye socket and skull had been just one of a multitude of injuries he had sustained whilst in the 'care' of Aranamov's henchmen all those years ago. The doctors told him that cluster migraines would be a result of the injury and something he'd have to live with for the rest of his life. He hadn't told anyone about them. Sure, the guys knew he got bad headaches, but they didn't know why. Only Dee knew the truth…

Dee.

Colby screwed his eyes shut as he felt a lump in his chest at the thought of her name. She'd be going nuts right about now. There was a good reason she'd earned the handle 'Firecracker' in the army. A brilliant tactician and normally ice calm, she still had a tendency to explode like a damn hand grenade on occasion. Colby chuckled to himself. Perhaps that's why he'd first been attracted to her. That unpredictability, the fact that she challenged him on equal terms… he'd found her…_exciting._ A force of nature, Gary Parks had called her. A damn force of nature with the destructive capability of a tornado. But Colby had seen another side to her. A passionate, caring woman, he had watched her as her intelligence abilities spearheaded the 'hearts and minds' policy, first created by the SAS back in the 1950s, into a cohesive and successful operation more than fifty years later in a village in Helmund province. He remembered watching her chatting with the women, playing with the children and still managing to secure the entire village and surrounding area with a seek and subdue operation that had earned her a commendation and a promotion to Major.

A promotion she'd lost in an incident six months later on leave in Dusseldorf. She was lucky they hadn't busted her down to Second Lieutenant or even kicked her out altogether. Colby hadn't been there, but Gary had told him about it. A bar fight led to a full-blown running street battle. They'd been caught up in the melee and had to 'defend' themselves. Unfortunately, their training instincts kicked in and they 'defended' themselves pretty damn forcefully. The result was half a dozen German Police officers and several locals feeling the full fury of a slightly drunk and strategically cornered SAS unit on leave. Never corner a pissed off and pissed up pack of Army rats... The local hospital had run out of beds. No amount of apologising from a very embarrassed British Army had placated the fury of the German local Police and, as senior officer, Diane had taken the blame to prevent her 'lads' ending up languishing in a German jail. She'd been officially reprimanded and stripped of rank – willing to take the consequences to protect the Regiment and her friends. She was damn lucky they didn't court martial and RTU her back to the Regulars. But her exemplary record, both in the elite INT14 intelligence unit and on attachment to the 22nd Battalion the SAS had saved her from a possible dishonourable discharge and the end of her career.

Colby had faced the same kind of situation himself. And now, again, he found himself going against all his instincts, all his training and all of his self-discipline and go head to head with an enemy he knew nothing about…

He sniffed sharply and sat upright, rubbing a hand over his face. Sharp stubble scratched at his palm. He hadn't shaved for three days and was starting to get his 'prison beard' back, as David had referred to it as. He stood up quickly. Time to get back on track. Think _cleanly_. Start by _being _clean. Shower and shave. Eat something. Get his gameface back on.

But each time he was forced to drag himself out of the dark, tailspinning void that threatened to overwhelm him - every time he had to focus back on the job, it got harder. Harder not to let himself sink into that depression, that black chasm filled with even blacker memories, nightmares and haunting visions. Harder every time to live up to everyone's expectations. He hated himself for these moments of weakness and self-pity. And that hatred hardened and focused into a pinpoint of anger – a technique he'd taught himself in those dark days in Kosovo.

One book he'd read over and over and over again was The Art of War by Sun Tzu. He'd committed it to memory. The greatest war strategy book ever written, it was his Bible. He'd lain awake, waiting for the next torture session to inevitably begin and recited it in his head. Keep your mind occupied. One of the basic and fundamental survival tactics in a hostage situation. Every one of the rules was etched into his consciousness. It was his comfort zone then, and one that he had continued to cling to ever since…

He stood underneath the power shower and set it to the most 'invigorating' setting, the water pounding needle points into his skin and making the surface of his body tingle. He let his mind mentally scan the pages of The Art Of War. He was searching for something that would give him a clue how to play this most dangerous of games. As the soap bubbles ran down his body, he tipped his head up towards the showerhead and let the powerful jets blast against his face. The words came creeping silently into his mind like ghosts…

_While heading the profit of any counsel, avail yourself also of any helpful circumstances __**over and beyond the 'ordinary rules'**_…

The steam surrounded him, mirroring the fog in his mind. He rubbed shampoo into his hair and screwed his eyes shut to protect them from the stinging soap. Again, the simple, basic act of washing helped him to focus his mind on higher thoughts…

_Hold out baits to __**entice the enemy**__. Feign disorder and __**crush him**_…

The bathroom extractor fan finally kicked in – Colby briefly mused that he must get around to fixing that properly one day – and the clouds of steam began to thin. As his hands moved over his body and the soap covered his skin, the fog in his own mind began to clear…

_If he is secure at all points, __**be prepared for him**__…_

He abandoned his soap and let the hot water wash away the last of the lather. He flicked the switch to cold and the icy blast made him gasp involuntarily. The last of the steam vanished. So did the fog in his mind…

_If your opponent is of choleric temper, seek to irritate him. __**Pretend to be weak, so that he may grow arrogant…**_

Colby suddenly stood stock still. The freezing water pounded against the top of his head, but he ignored the icy rivulets that ran down his torso and raised goose bumps on his skin. Slowly, a small smile spread across his lips. He knew what game they were playing. _And he knew how to beat them_…

…_Feign disorder, __**and crush him…**_

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"Coxy! You lanky, streak of piss cockney bastard!" Marcus Bowen grinned broadly at his friend and strode towards him, a hand extended in greeting.

"Bowen, you fat northern, car stealing git!" Cox grinned broadly and met his friend in the middle of the corridor, ignoring the astonished glances of the confused nurses. The two men seemed to be trading insults but embraced like brothers…

"How is she?" Marcus nodded towards the room.

"Ever stood on a Claymore and been in that 'if I make _one single wrong move_, life's gonna get real interesting and real short, _real _quick' situation? Yeah, a bit like that. Right now she's got a look on 'er face that would frighten the bleedin' horses." He shook Doug's hand warmly. "Hey Crossy. Good to have you along, mate."

"Good to be here. And please don't mention Marcus and anything to do with cars in the same sentence, Micky. Not for a few hours, anyway." Doug ignored Marcus's good-humoured frown and nodded towards Diane's room. "That bad, huh?"

"She's worried, Doug. Waddya expect?" Micky's voice fell quiet and serious. "And, frankly? So am I. I've got a bad feeling about this, lads."

"Mick, I know you well enough to be concerned by that." Doug's expression was blank, but his bright blue eyes burned. "What exactly is giving you the heebie-jeebies?"

"The fact that Colby's off the leash, pissed as hell and fired up. The fact that her indoors is ditto, but just up the ante on the pissed as hell and fired up bits. And the fact that we're having to put our trust in someone that only Colby can vouch for."

"Lawrence Gibbs."

"Exactly, Marcus. If Colby calls it wrong…"

"He hasn't called it wrong, Mick. As soon as I got your text on the plane, I did a bit of background checking on Gibbs." Doug looked serious. His powerful arms crossed over his chest and he shifted position.

"And?"

"Far as I can see he's sound."

"Tell me you did an INT background check and not a bloody pointless 'going through regular channels' background search."

"Do you think I'd be daft enough to do that, Mick? Of _course _I went through our people! I'm sure as hell not going to leave a trail of breadcrumbs to let anyone who might want to know for the wrong reasons what we're up to, now am I?"

Micky sighed and ran his hand through his short hair. "Sorry mate. Not much sleep over the last few days. I was out of order there."

"Don't worry about it, Mick."

"Um…lads?" Marcus's puzzled voice caught their attention. "Should the Guv actually _be _out of bed?"

"What?" Micky spun around and looked through the window into Diane's room. She had swung her legs around onto the side of the bed and was busily disconnecting various monitors and tubes that tethered her to the bed. "Oh, _bollocks_…" Micky trotted back to the room. "Guv, what the _bleedin' hell _do you think you're doing?"

Diane looked up, a placid and dangerously blank expression on her face. "What does it look like? I'm no bloody use slumped out in bed, Mick. Get me some clothes."

"Like hell I will. You are in no fit state to do anyth…"

Micky didn't see her move. The next thing he knew was a strong arm winding around his throat and the clamp of her other hand on the back of his head. Her right arm gripped her left bicep and she squeezed, the headlock tightening to uncomfortable levels. A quiet voice whispered in his ear. "Enough of a demonstration for you, Cox?" The headlock tightened a fraction. "Now _get...me...some...clothes!"_

"I think she wants her kecks, Micky." Marcus grinned, watching the Guv prove a point. Her hospital gown was open at the back and his gaze lingered on her naked body long enough to take in the powerful muscles in her back flexing as she held Micky Cox in a savage headlock. It also gave him time to admire the woman's athletic physique. He could see what Colby saw in her... Quickly, he looked away, mentally chastising himself for looking at a senior officer like that, never mind whether she _did _have a nice arse or not. He hoped to God that Doug hadn't noticed his indescretion. He glanced across at Doug. The grin on the man's face told him instantly he _had _noticed...

"Thank you, Captain _bloody Obvious_!" Micky gurgled and tapped twice on Diane's arm. "Okay Guv, point made. You can ease up now, gal!" Diane's grip eased slightly and Micky stepped free.

Micky Cox stood back, rubbing his neck. "What _is _it with bloody intelligence officers? First Granger starts lobbing bloody tomato sauce at me to 'prove a bloody point' and now you do the whole ninja sneaky bastard move on me?"

"Granger threw _what _at you to do _what _now?"

"Long story, Doug."

Diane didn't join in with the good-humoured banter. Micky noticed that the exertion had made her breathing heavier than it should have been. He was right. She was in no fit state to go into combat. But try telling her that… Micky turned and moved close to her, a gentle hand supporting her elbow. His voice dropped so that only she could hear the words. "Know your limits, Guv. And know when to ask me for help, okay?" He smiled kindly at his boss.

Diane nodded briefly and the faintest flicker of a smile in return flashed across her lips…

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Colby sat on the couch, a towel covering the lower half of his body and the skin on his torso still gleaming wet from the shower, the 'prison beard' now replaced by a clean shaven look. He unwrapped the pre-paid cell phone from its box and discarded the cardboard. Quickly, he slipped the back off and pulled out the SIM card. Slotting it carefully into a dongle, he plugged it into the USB port on his laptop and tapped at some keys. The original ID markings were wiped clean from the card and new ones implanted. Colby had effectively made the phone completely untraceable. He pulled out the dongle and removed the SIM card, pushing it back into its allocated position in the back of the phone and reassembled the device. The screen lit up and he tapped in a sequence of numbers…

"_Identify and be known."_

"Granger. Colby John. Bravo Zulu two zero three three one seven one."

"_Colby. What can I do for you, buddy? And what's with the phone ident?"_

"Long story Lawrence. Bud, listen. I need your help."

_"Not a good time to ask, brother…"_

"Lawrence, listen. I need to arrange a meet and greet."

_"Bud, your escapades in the Balkans have set off a goddamn hornet's nest here. Who in the hell sanctioned the damn operation?"_

"That's what I need you to find out for me, man. I'm not one hundred percent certain, but my guess is a guy by the name of Walter Burkess."

_"Burkess? Are you sure?"_

"As sure as I can be, bud."

_"There's talk of an internal investigation going on, Col. Something about rogue agents consorting with the enemy for their own agenda…"_

"Then your guys in Internal are pretty much on the money. But right now, they're looking in the wrong direction. You can't let anyone know in Internal that you've talked to me, bud. Just confirm that it was Burkess who signed the docket."

"_And then?"_

And then I need you to give him a message. Tell him I'm tired. I wanna come in. To talk. Tell him anything you want, bro, but just make sure he knows I'm beat, okay?" _**…Pretend to be weak, so that he may grow arrogant…**_

_"What if he doesn't go for it, Col? He's gonna be reluctant to meet you in person."_

Colby chuckled. "Nah. This guy's got a big weakness, Lawrence. He thinks he's a kingmaker. He likes the sensation of seeing his opponents give in. He'll go for it." **…**_**Hold out baits to entice the enemy…**_

"_He'll suspect a trap, bud."_

"Countin' on it."

_"Okay, but there's no way I can have back up come in for you and keep it under wraps from someone like Burkess, Col. If I do, things are gonna start getting real nasty this end. I ain't tryin' to cover my own ass here, bud, but I'm no use to you if I'm gagged by an internal investigation lockdown."_

"I know, Lawrence. Don't worry. I got back up."

_"Who?"_

Colby smiled darkly. "Bud, if I told you, I'd have to kill you…" The dark joke had a dangerous edge to it… "Now listen carefully..."

Finally, Colby snapped the clamshell phone shut and tossed it on the table. He picked up a glass and drained the last drops of a stiff Jack Daniel's. The liquid sent a warming sensation coursing down his chest and into his abdomen. Again, that dark, vicious, almost _feral _smile played around his lips. The Art of War.

…_**Feign disorder, and crush him…**_

_**TBC…**_


	23. Four Minutes

Four Minutes...

Disclaimer:

Blah, blah, blah. You know this by now, surely? About me not owning anything to do with Numb3rs but owning the story and the Brits? Right? So I don't have to say it again? Waddya mean, until next time? Bloody lawyers…

This chapter was inspired in style by the superb 'One Hour' episode of Numb3rs. Author's tip: the timeframe in this chapter is very short, hence the fragmented style.

And from the author: Apologies for delay in update. This was due to a certain British company, who shall remain nameless for legal reasons, having to fix my broadband connection because in their words, "It broke." Yup, I broke the Internet. Apparently. Sorry 'bout that…

Roll credits and wonky Numb3rs board…

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Colby Granger sat in the silent darkness of silly am in the morning. He should be sleeping. He knew that. He should be getting at least a couple of hours rest before taking on such a dangerous job. But sleep wouldn't come. And if it did, he knew it would be haunted by black nightmares, filled with pain, despair and self-doubt. The last thing he needed right now was any further introspective goddamn navel-gazing and a chance to just go fuck it all and give up. It would be so easy to walk way. Like it would have been so much easier to walk away and take the Washington job after the whole Chinese affair.

But Rangers never quit. They lead the way, right?

Colby rubbed his eyes. They had that spiky feeling that was his body's way of telling him that it was still running on empty. As usual, he ignored it. There would be time to relax afterwards.

If he lived through it.

He stood up and went to the window, looking out on that strange, still silence that enveloped even the 24/7 City of Angels in the small hours of the morning. Although the view across MacArthur Park was almost serine, for a moment he longed for it to be the mountains of Idaho. Or to rewind time back to that idyllic moment a few days and a lifetime ago when he sat on the steps of Diane's beach house, staring out across crystal blue Pacific waves and deserted sands filled with precious, _good_ memories. Shoulda, woulda, coulda…

He sighed deeply and let the curtain drop back. As he glanced up and caught his reflection in the glass-fronted cabinet opposite, he frowned for a second.

Sudden realisation kicked in. The red dot he could see shimmering in the reflection wasn't the standby button on the TV…

"SHIT!"

He dropped to the floor just in time. The bullet punched its way through the glass of his apartment window and into the cabinet, shattering the smoked glass doors into a thousand fragments. Staying low, he belly-crawled to the coffee table and reached up, never allowing his head to rise above the level of the windowsill. His fingers curled around the butt of his A1 and he dragged it off the table. Again, his fingers snaked up and hunted for the cell-phone.

The red beam of a laser sight hunted the room for its prey, like a tiny, deadly searchlight. Some bastard was taking pot shots at him. And he needed back up. Fast…

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Diane sat in the passenger seat of the big Dodge Nitro, ignoring both the pain in her chest and the tourist-like chatter of Marcus and Doug as they gently ribbed each other. Micky drove, weaving his way through the almost empty streets. He glanced over at his passenger, remembering the very _heated _discussion between Diane and the doctors half an hour earlier. The outcome had been inevitable – short of cuffing her to the bed, there was no way in hell the doctors could do anything except stand and watch her walk out of the hospital, their heads shaking in disbelief…

"You okay, Guv?" Micky's voice was quiet, meant only for Diane's ears.

"Fine."

"You sure?"

"Just drive the damn truck, Mick."

"I can multi-task, me. I can drive _and _talk at the same time."

"That's a shame." Diane's voice was strained. The effort of walking to the truck had been far more taxing than she'd been willing to admit, either to Micky or to herself. She carefully avoided Micky's concerned gaze and stared out of the window at the passing streets. Her silence wasn't just the result of fatigue, pain or a reluctance to talk to Micky. It was an indication of how worried she was about Colby…

Micky glanced across again at his friend. She had that 'vacant' look he knew so well. It meant that her mind was doing a thousand miles an hour yet her outer persona was one of complete stillness. It unnerved him when she did this. It meant she was worried. _Really _worried…

A sharp, chirruping ringtone split the silence of the cab in two. Diane reached into her pocket and brought out the phone, glancing at the caller ID. Her 'vacant' look immediately vanished and she frowned deeply, flipping open the clamshell phone. "Colby."

"_Dee? You okay? I was expecting to get Micky." _His voice was a hoarse whisper.

Diane frowned again, immediately concerned…"I'm fine. We're on our way to you."

"_Could you get here a bit faster baby, 'cause…_There was a split second pause and an eruption of sound in the background. Diane flinched…"_SON of a BITCH! Will you STOP SHOOTING MY DAMN FURNITURE!" _Colby's voice was a furious snarl, directed at some unknown assailant. Diane's fingers tightened around the casing of the phone as she heard the change in his voice from that infuriating flippancy he adopted when he was in a tight situation, into a hard voice filled with real anger directed towards someone she couldn't hear or see. She knew he didn't give a crap about his furniture. She did know that he _did _give a crap about the fact that someone was aiming a high powered weapon in his general direction…

"Colby? _Colby!_" Diane's voice sounded momentarily panicked as she heard the familiar crack of another bullet punching through glass in the background. There was a sudden, splintering thud as it embedded itself in something wooden – probably that god-awful bookcase of his that she hated so much. The sounds down the phone were faint, but clearly perceivable to a trained ear… He was pinned down by sniper fire. In his _own home_…Her eyes darkened and she shot a look over to Mick, the phone still pressed to her ear. "Floor it, Cox." The command was cold, flat and non-negotiable…

Micky didn't hesitate. He didn't ask why. He _knew_. Colby was in trouble… The truck leapt forward and powered through an intersection, the skilled driver paying no attention whatsoever to the blazing stop light. Micky had made sure he'd spent a good few hours studying a roadmap of LA, mentally marking the quickest routes to principle locations. Colby's apartment was just such a principle location. He knew exactly how to get there as quickly as any native-born LA resident would do after a lifetime's worth of driving the streets. Learn the terrain. It was a fundamental part of his training. No matter what situation you're going into, _learn the damn terrain_. Their lives could depend on it. And right now? His gut was telling him that Colby's life was depending on his ability to get there as _fast as fuckin' possible…_

Diane ignored the scream of the tyres as Micky hurtled around a left turn. Her attention focused solely on Colby…"Talk to me, Colby." Her voice was still cold, flat and hard. The tone immediately caught the attention of Marcus and Doug. They exchanged the briefest of glances and as one man they instantly drew their weapons and started checks. Both of them had worked enough with intelligence officers like Diane to know that you could tell exactly what was happening on the other end of a phone just by listening to one side of the conversation. You broke it down into stages. Currently, they were at stage one. Potential unknown hostile situation. Check and Prepare…

On the other end of the phone, Colby picked up on the tone as well. He knew she had 'the lads' with her. And he knew right now Micky was practically stamping his foot through the floor to squeeze every kicking, screaming last horse out of that engine. He knew the others would be doing a C&P drill. He knew help was on the way. And he knew that help needed every piece of information he could give them so that their counter-attack would be successful…"_Sniper. Sounds like a three three eight. Laser scope so I'm guessing the bastard's got night vision. Firing from the south side of the building. Judging by the angle of fire, probably not elevated. Any other forces unknown, but proceed with extreme caution. This feels like a burn, Dee. Probable back-up driver, though can't confirm for sure. Have one clip, one in the pipe and my low battery light's flashing on the goddamn phone!"_

"We're…" Diane glanced at Micky…

"Four minutes." Micky's eyes didn't leave the road.

"We're four minutes out. Hold position." Her voice dropped and softened for a split second. "We're coming, baby. We're coming…"

"_I know. Thank you." _Colby's voice was gentle, whilst in the background another bullet shattered the remaining glass door of the cabinet. _"See you in four."_

The line went dead. Diane paused for a second before she closed the phone, reluctant to break the link with the man she loved. He was pinned down. They were four minutes away from him. Four short minutes. But she knew it would only take a split second for a lucky bullet to find its mark.

Four minutes.

It felt like her entire life - any future they may have had together, any time they had left together - was being compressed into four, horrible, gut twisting minutes.

She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream. She wanted to _be there right now…_

Diane snapped the phone shut and turned, any hint of emotion buried deep behind a businesslike mask of utter professionalism. Inside, her guts were boiling, twisting in on themselves and making her feel physically sick. The wave of nausea probably wasn't helped by the rough ride of the Nitro and Micky's somewhat forceful driving technique. But she couldn't let any of that show for a second. She dragged every last ounce of strength she had left and let the adrenaline take over. Her mind instantly cleared of any thoughts she might have had. This wasn't just personal. This was _business…_ "Single verified sniper on the south side of the building, ground level. Possible other hostiles, most likely a driver. Target one is using a high powered rifle, possibly a three three eight. Probable night vision capability."

"Origin?" Doug snapped the single word out.

"Unknown. Possibly deep black ops. So they'll be highly trained. Do not underestimate the enemy, gentlemen."

"Rule one." Marcus tapped his magazine against the butt of his gun and rammed it back home, sliding the bolt in one smooth action. The Browning 9mm was primed and ready.

"Rule one, Marcus." Diane nodded. "We go in two teams of two. Go in fast, go in silent. And lads?" She paused. "I know this fucker's going after one of our own, but I'd really like to take the bastard alive if at all possible. He or she is valuable." The men all nodded. They knew exactly how important any additional intelligence was right now. Primary objective was to protect Colby's life. But secondary by only a short distance would be to capture the sniper alive. The men then knew that they could hand him over to Colby and Diane. The two ex soldiers had a particular skill when it came to extracting intel out of a reluctant enemy agent. They're methods weren't exactly _textbook_. But they worked. Even if things had to get a bit…_uncomfortable..._for the interviewee…

"Any indication of other hostiles?" Micky still focused on the road, but he had taken in every word of the short briefing. Diane smiled inwardly. The man was right. He _could _multi-task.

"Unconfirmed but possible. Colby's reckoning that if the bugger _is _Company, he'll have a back-up driver at least. As for others, you're guess is as good as mine, Micky."

"Company men usually go in solo, Guv."

"They do when they're not going up against someone of Colby's calibre, Mick. They know full well he'll call for some heavyweight back up of his own. They know we're in town, and they know our connection with Colby. They'll be expecting us, gentlemen." She glanced over at Micky Cox. "Tell me you've stocked the glovebox with some toys, buggerlugs."

Micky grinned broadly, his eyes still glued to the road. "Guv, you know me _so _well! Righty-ho, lads. If you'd like to check the usual hiding places, you'll find enough firepower to start a small war. Terrain is all residential area so I'd recommend availing yourself of the rather nifty little silencers." The grin vanished, Micky's expression instantly transformed into one of complete professionalism. "Colby's crash pad is in a block of four. He's ground floor, south corner. Ingress is a direct access into the apartment. No corridor. Back door entrance on the east. Open terrain for about thirty yards and then a hedge, then the park. My guess is our sniper's close range."

"How close can we get without alerting the target to our presence?" Doug was already reaching under his seat. His hands curled around a metal barrel and he pulled out the short, metallic blue, stubby body of an FMP90. Doug grinned happily. "Now _that's _more like it, Coxy!"

"A hundred and fifty yards, if I kill the engine and coast. And you're welcome." Micky flashed a grin in the driver's mirror back to his friend.

"ETA?"

"One minute."

"Gentlemen?" Diane slid the bolt back on her own P90. There was no self-satisfied, smug smile. There was just an icy, chillingly cold edge to her voice. "Who dares wins…"

33333333

Colby waited. His back was pressed against a part of the wall he knew to be a supporting beam, rather than just stud wall and cinder block. Bullets were still punching their way into the room like angry bees. The sniper wasn't taking any chances. There was no loud bang, just a muffled pop that could hardly be heard, even in the still, small hours of the morning. No lights in the neighbour's houses went on. Nobody was disturbed. Nobody was aware that, just a few feet from their own, safe, warm houses, a bitter fight for survival was taking place…

Colby flinched and flicked his head away as a bullet punched through the thin wall just inches from his right ear. A fine sprinkling of dust landed on his shoulder and he felt the tingling sting of sharp pieces of cinder dust pattering against his cheek. The bastard's grouping was getting better. He was working out exactly where Colby was. Every bullet got closer to its mark, every faint pop meant another millisecond away from death. He knew that the person on the other end of that rifle was a pro. A pro of Ian Edgerton's standard. He knew damn well it _wasn't _Ian, but there couldn't be too many snipers of this standard around on the open market. This was definitely a Company man. And if he was Company, he _had _company. They always travelled in twos for hit jobs like this. _**Know your enemy…**_The words of The Art of War echoed once again in his mind. He smiled quietly. He _did _know his enemy. Only now he knew for definite who it was he was up against. He was up against his _own damn people…_

That thought made him angry. He'd been burned. Why? And who had given the order? The only way he was going to have a chance in _hell _of finding that out was to survive the next…he glanced at his watch…two minutes. The odds of that were getting increasingly shorter, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. If he moved, the sniper would be on him in an instant. He scanned the trashed room for a line of escape. For the first time he cursed the fact that his apartment came complete with a picture window that, although initially a real feature of the apartment and one that Colby really liked, once you removed what was left of the tattered, bullet-shredded lace curtain, it gave any passing goddamn sniper a widescreen view into virtually every angle of the living room. Right _now_, Colby fervently wished he'd gone for an apartment with a _smaller goddamn window. _He was in the only blind spot. If he stayed here, he might last out until the cavalry arrived. If he moved, he was dead. A feeling of helplessness washed over him and it _pissed him off_…

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The truck rolled almost silently to a stop. The only sound was a faint crunching of gravel under the wide, soft tyres. As the truck finally came to rest, all four doors opened silently and four figures slipped out. They let the doors rest closed, not shutting them properly to avoid making any sound that may alert their target of their presence.

In the shadows, two teams of two split into opposite directions, running fast, low and silent, the automatics held out in front of them, the butts pushed into their shoulders. The ends of the barrels were extended and bulbous: the silencers would damp out almost any sound that the guns made. This was an operation on friendly soil, without the knowledge of any friendly agency, including the FBI. The team was acting completely off the playbook here. If they drew any attention to themselves, they would be staring down the barrel of court martials, repatriation, dishonourable discharges for Doug and Marcus and probably prison for Micky and Diane. This had to be a silent operation. There was too much to lose if things went bad…

Micky Cox and Diane trotted silently to the south of the building and took cover behind a parked car. Micky scanned the hedge line, looking for the sniper. Colby's yard backed onto MacArthur Park. Beyond the boundary of the park was terrain filled with cover for a sniper to hide in. Micky felt a tap on his arm and he turned, wordlessly taking the night vision goggles Diane handed up to him. He slipped them on and scanned again. Against an eerie green, almost phosphorescent view he saw a blinding, yellow-white line flash across his vision. Immediately he traced its path and focused in on a patch of cover sixty yards in front of them. He ducked down and, using hand signals, gesticulated towards the bush. Diane nodded and looked up, confirming the target's position. Where there was one, there was another…

Micky crouched and scuttled crab-like along the row of parked cars. He made sure he stayed below the level of the windowsills of each car. As he ran along, he checked the side of each car's hood with his hand. The warm one would be target number two. They'd been there for only a few minutes. That meant the body of the engine housing would be still warm. That would warm the metal of the hood and wheel arch. It would be a dead giveaway. He glanced back. Diane had taken up position where she could see target one, but was hidden from view herself. If anyone was watching from the getaway vehicle, they wouldn't be able to see the soldiers as they took up their positions…

On the east side, Doug spotted target one from the opposite side and held up a fist. Marcus stopped dead behind him and waited… Doug pointed to his left and the two men immediately changed their direction of approach, moving around and behind target one…

The metal was warm. Micky instantly stopped statue still. Bingo… He carefully reached up with his left hand and pressed the transmit button on his radio three times. Belfast rules. Clicks on the radio. Silent comms. Go, go, go…

As one, all four soldiers moved.

Micky Cox popped up like a jack-in-a-box. The driver of the car immediately turned, to be faced with a furious pair of blazing blue eyes, surrounded by a black balaclava that hid every other feature of the man's face. A black combat jacket and black gloves made the man almost invisible in the gloom. But the driver could _very clearly _see the business end of an FMP90 pointing straight at him. He froze. Underneath the balaclava, the driver had the feeling that the ninja-like and very heavily armed man was smiling. And that it wasn't a very nice smile…"Move, and…" The masked man shrugged. "Well, you know the rest." The driver saw the man's eyebrow raise. He understood perfectly. He was staring straight into the cold, blue eyes of a fellow professional. And one who was a damn sight better than he was. He knew that if he _was_ stupid enough to move, 'the rest' would be terminal…

Diane heard the three clicks in her earpiece and moved silently towards target one. In the corner of her eye she saw two other crouched figures moving in from the east. They were all converging on the target, hoping and praying that the sniper was still focusing on the shattered remains of Colby's living room right now. If he or she turned, they'd have a clear shot of the approaching soldiers in either direction. The pincher movement was risky on open terrain. Diane saw one of the two figures break right. Either Doug or Marcus was circling around to come up behind the target. They now had all three approaches covered. Still the laser sight aimed its deadly pinpoint of red light towards Colby's apartment…

The sniper heard the crack of a twig behind him. He instantly froze, listening intently for any other sound. If he moved, he'd be open on three sides. He had a mission to complete. He was still not convinced that any of his bullets had found their target. If his mark _had_ called in those bastard Brits, there was probably only time for one more shot before they were on him… He focused his attention back on the target and curled his finger around the trigger. He adjusted the aim just a fraction of a degree to the left…

"Finger off the trigger, old son. Nice and slow." He felt the cold steel of a gun barrel press against his neck. The voice was clinical, quiet and most definitely _British_. The sniper knew it was over. He smiled to himself and squeezed the trigger…

Doug saw the flicker of movement just too late. A nanosecond after the bullet left the sniper's barrel, his own weapon fired at point blank range into the man's neck. The sniper died instantly…

"Shit." Doug swore quietly and looked up. "Guv, I'm sorry…"

"Don't be. Check the body. Marcus, get back to Micky. He's got the driver. We've got at least one of the bastards alive." She instantly turned away and ran silently towards the gaping, shattered window of Colby's apartment. Every step made her gut twist more. They'd got there. Please _GOD _they'd got there _in time_…

"Colby!" She scrabbled through the smashed window, ignoring the rasping pain in her chest from her own earlier injuries. The adrenaline was running out. She felt like her legs would give way any second. She frantically dropped into the room and spun around to her right, a crushing pressure blanketing her as she saw him. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't think. She couldn't move…

"_Colby!"_

_**TBC…**_


	24. Talk of the Devil

Disclaimer: I own EVERYTHING! A-HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! *Insert manic look here*

*_Please Note: Disclaimer hysteria has finally taken hold. The lawyers would like to reassure those who matter that the opinion of the author is not necessarily to be taken literally. She does, in fact, own bugger-all except the story and the British characters. As for the rest of it, she owns nada and she really should be paying us more to keep her copyrighted arse out of jail…Signed, the Lawyers.* _

Usual warnings apply for bad language and violence and sorry Julie, no explosions this episode but you just WAIT for the next bugger!

Roll credits and wonky Numb3rs board…

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The room was a mess. The hated bookshelf lay in splinters. Diane didn't give the fact another thought, despite her often professed and very vocal loathing of the ugly case. She and Colby had joked about it a few days earlier, Diane calling it a good reason to forget the nineteen seventies ever happened and Colby vigorously defending its practicalities and supposed aesthetics. It had been good to joke about such a trivial thing in such a relaxed way with each other. She had finally felt at ease for the first time in years…

But now all that had changed.

She rushed over to the slumped figure, shrouded in shadows and frighteningly still. No. Please _God, _no…

Colby groaned and gingerly opened one eye. His gaze met with Diane's frantic, worried expression and he gave her a slow, lopsided grin. "Well, there goes the bookcase!"

Diane hugged him wildly, fighting back the stinging tears that lined her green eyes. "Don't you _ever _do that to me again!"

"What, get shot at? Can't promise that babes, what with being an FBI agent and all…"

Diane sat back suddenly, a furious snarl replacing the concern and worry of a few seconds earlier. "I _mean_, try taking on the Company solo, you daft bastard! What were you _thinking_?"

Colby feigned mock, indignant anger. "Hey, wait up here! I'm the one that got shot at!"

Diane couldn't hold the single tear back. It slid slowly down her cheek and she stared blankly at him. "I know." The two words were laden with emotion.

He could suddenly see how scared she had been. She had thought that he'd been killed - that she'd lost him. He grabbed her and pulled her close, his strong arms wrapping lovingly around her own powerful shoulders. He held her for a few seconds, silently reassuring her that he was still here, still alive. Colby buried his face into her shoulder and whispered gently in her ear. "I'm okay, baby. _I'm okay_." He felt her own embrace tighten briefly in silent reply.

She pulled back and hastily wiped the offending tear away. A sign of weakness, she'd always said. And she _hated _admitting to any weakness. Especially on a mission. She had always been fearful that, as a woman in a man's world, she would instantly be seen as the weak link in any operation. Women were emotional. Women were unpredictable. Women were weaker in tough situations than men. She knew that one slip up would confirm all those stereotypical opinions and she'd be sent straight back to I-Corps. RTU, it was called. Returned to Unit. In the eyes of the returning soldier, it was considered a disgrace. A failure. And when lives depended on your ability to succeed, failure was never an option.

So she'd learned to bury her emotions behind a mask of complete professionalism and some would even say a coldness and distance that made her unapproachable. But with Colby, she didn't care about all that. All she cared about right now was that he was okay…

She sat back and flashed a grin at him. "Seems my wish about that bookcase came true then."

"I'm gonna buy one the _exact _same. Just to piss you off." Colby grinned again and groaned as he sat up, a sharp pain punching through his shoulder. Diane instantly saw the flinch and scanned his body. A dark, damp stain soaked through the thin material of his teeshirt. She put a hand up to his right shoulder, pulling her fingers away immediately as she felt the warm, damp sensation she knew was blood.

"You're hit."

"It's a scratch."

"I'll be the judge of that."

"Shouldn't you still be in hospital, little miss bleedy?"

"Bollocks, Granger. Now sit still."

"Sitting sti…OW! Damn it woman!"

"Oh, quit your bellyaching, Granger, it's just a scratch!"

"That's what I _said_!"

A chuckle from the shattered window made them both turn instantly. Doug Cross grinned in the gloom, his white teeth and laughing eyes clearly visible. "My god, but just _how much _do you two bicker? Jesus! Yer like an old married couple!" The expression instantly changed, but the hint of mirth was still clearly visible in his eyes. "Mick's got the driver. Orders?"

"Colby?" Diane turned, waiting for his order.

"We get the hell out of Dodge." Colby held out a hand and Diane grasped it firmly and stood up, pulling him to his feet. "Give me two minutes to grab some stuff and get the driver back to the van. I'll call Don and get this mess cleaned up."

"What about the sniper?" Doug stood ready to carry out any command Colby gave him.

"Leave him."

"You sure?" Diane frowned.

"I'm sure. Two minutes." Colby hunted around for his cell-phone, wincing as he moved. The wound _was _just a shallow scrape in the flesh, but it stung like a bastard. Doug nodded and trotted away, clearing up any evidence of their assault on the sniper as he went. They might find the body but they wouldn't find anything else…

"I'll grab your gear. You make the call." Diane nodded and moved out of the living room and heading towards the bedroom. Colby flipped open the phone and hit speed-dial one. He glanced up and shouted after Diane.

"Don't forget my bag of toys!"

"_Eppes…"_

Colby immediately focused his attention onto the phone conversation, ignoring the sound of a thump and a muttered cursed coming from the bedroom. "Don, it's Colby."

"_Col, you okay?"_

"Yeah, I'm fine. Listen, I need you to do me a favour…"

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Two minutes later Colby and Diane slipped out of the apartment and headed quickly towards the truck. Diane trotted around the front of the truck and ducked quickly into the front passenger seat. Colby slid in to the back and slammed the door shut. Dumping his hold-all onto the floorwell, he turned and grinned at the bound and gagged driver of the getaway vehicle, inches from the man's face. The grin turned nasty…"_Surprise_…"

The captured driver visibly paled. A _very much alive_ Colby Granger, sitting next to him in the back of an SUV surrounded by angry, English SAS soldiers was _not _how the night was supposed to have played out…

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"Christ almighty, what the hell kind of war went on here?" David stared around in disbelief at the shattered remains of his best friend's living room. The huge picture window that looked out onto the park was just a memory now. A gaping, empty frame was all that was left, and pieces of that lay in splinters on the carpet inside. The place looked like it had been raked by a Gattling gun. "And he got out _alive_?"

"Bullet-proof Granger." Nikki muttered quietly."

"Huh?"

"That's what Micky Cox calls Colby. Apparently, according to the Brits, the big guy's practically bullet-proof."

"Not quite." Don crouched down and looked at the smear of blood on the wall. If Colby had been sitting with his back to the wall, it would have been about shoulder height. Don's stomach knotted briefly in concern. His friend had been hurt. That's how close the sniper's bullet had come…

Don stood up quickly and looked at David, trying to mask the worry he had for his absent agent. He could see the same concern written all over David's face. "But judging by the conversation I had with him, it's probably just a flesh wound. He sounded pissed, not in pain."

"I'll get a glazier in to patch the window up. Meantime, we've got a dead body with a three three eight sniper rifle in the bush outside. Looks like Colby's managed to piss off some pretty angry people."

"I don't want any connection made to Colby. Not yet. Are we clear?" Don snapped his latex glove off and pushed it into his pocket."

"Don, we can't just pretend like this didn't happen, bud…"

"David's right, Don. We've got a dead sniper and Colby's apartment is full of bullet holes. Hard not to put two and two together…"

"We _sit _on it until I hear from Col." Don glanced up. "Do whatever you have to do, but make sure no reports get sent anywhere outside our unit."

"Don…"

"This is _not _a negotiation, David. Whatever this is, it goes all the way up. Colby needs time to get clear and find out what the hell's going on. We need to give him that time. Even if it's only a few hour's head start. Okay?"

David nodded sharply, a dark look in his eye. It may go against his principles, but he knew that where Colby was concerned, there was always a 'bigger picture' to consider. He had absolutely no doubt that Colby was on the right side. He just wished like hell that the _wrong _side didn't keep turning out to be the people he thought were _supposed _to be protecting this country all these years. The heart of national security had been compromised. Not by outside terrorists, but by the enemy within. Shadowy, faceless men and women who manipulated world events to their own benefit – be that money, power or both. They turned out to be as bad if not worse than the terrorists they claimed to be fighting. A real-life Illuminati. Every time the team ventured into Colby's dark and spook-infested world, David found his convictions being challenged and his loyalties tested. Finding traitors within your own midst was always the hardest part of their job. But he trusted Don. And he trusted his best friend_ completely_…"Understood."

"Hey, hang on a minute, how the hell are we supposed to cover all this up…" Nikki still hadn't learned what these forays into the murky world of espionage entailed. And her black and white view of the world didn't yet give her the understanding of the greys that existed in between…

"We don't cover it up, Nikki. We just…" David shrugged. "_Take our time _investigating it. And reporting on it." He watched as Don moved closer and spoke directly to Nikki, his voice dropping to a quiet murmur.

"These people have known every move Colby's made, hell Nikki, they've been pulling his damn strings each step of the way. Now from what I can figure out, Colby's just an annoyance in whatever plan they've got going. Ya know, the one that we're trying to stop from sending the centre of LA to hell and back? Colby's trying to stop them from the inside. It's what he _does_, Nikki. Right now, you and I don't need to know the whys. We just need to know it's happening. And we need to do whatever we can to help Colby get right inside this nest of vipers and start pulling the kingpins out."

"And there's me thinkin' he was just the heavy artillery whenever we raided a meth house…"

"He's way more than just heavy artillery, Nikki. Way more."

"So this is need to know, right?"

"Right."

"And the eleventh floor don't need to know right now?"

"Exactly." Don nodded.

"Because we have no idea who we can trust? Don, I signed up for Violent Crimes, not goddamn internal investigations!"

"Believe me, there's gonna be plenty of violent crimes to get stuck into Nikki. But our remit goes a little bit wider than that. And right now, we're covering one particular base that is _technically _violent and criminal. Colby's just covering the internal investigation part of things, is all."

"What the hell is this Don, the Untouchables?"

Don stared blankly at the junior agent. She constantly challenged everyone and everything around her. That absolute belief in black and white, good and bad, right and wrong – it was the foundation of any real FBI agent and a quality that Don appreciated. If she could learn to temper that with a little more consideration and a willingness to start seeing the greys, then she'd have the makings of a damn good agent. But her inexperience shone through. That could be a problem…He moved a little closer, speaking directly to her, his eyes locked on hers. "If that's what helps you get through this in one piece, then yes, Nikki, we _are _the damn Untouchables! And the people we're helping Colby put _down _are the very worst kind of scum there is. They're traitors. They don't give a _damn _about one, single human life, not yours, not mine, not Colby's, not _anyone_. They're worse than any gang-banger, any drug lord, hell, they _own _the damn gangs and drug cartels! And _we're gonna stop them_. Because _that_, Nikki, is what _we _do."

For a few seconds, Nikki met Don's gaze. If she challenged him again, he knew she wouldn't last in the team. He couldn't have that constant questioning of his orders, especially in front of a more experienced agent like David. But if she accepted the order…

"On it."

Don sighed inwardly in relief. He didn't want to lose such a promising agent from the team. Her acceptance of his order, no matter how unorthodox that order was, gave him hope that she would last the course…

Nikki's face still betrayed the struggle she was having coming to terms with this less than textbook way of doing things. She knew from the very start that the LA Violent Crimes Unit had a reputation throughout the FBI as being one of the very best in the country. She also knew of their reputation for the use of somewhat unorthodox methodology. Everything she had learned at Quantico suddenly seemed redundant. This was a very different FBI from the one she thought she had been signing up for… She turned and walked out of the room, commenting over her shoulder. "So I'll just go tell the coroner's guys to pick up that body that really isn't there and go hide it in a mortuary locker for a few hours before they don't process it, right?"

David flashed a humourless grin at her. "Got it in one, new guy."

"Okay. Just so I'm clear." She gave them a small smile, turned and walked out of the building.

Don glanced at David, trying to judge the mood of his friend and right hand man. He relied on David's stalwart presence as much as he relied on Colby's ability to 'think outside the box'. But David was the rock that he clung to when the political currents that swirled around the FBI started messing with his thinking. Years of lonesome, seat of the pants fugitive recovery had made it difficult for Don to fit well into a team. He understood Colby's independent, sometimes pig-headed stubborn streak perfectly. But David was the calm in the river that threatened to swallow him sometimes. He looked to him whenever he feared that events had caused him to step over the line. Right now, Don looked to David for just such a confirmation. Had he done the right thing? Should he have given Colby that head start? Or had he just brought down a firestorm on all their heads?

David returned Don's glance. "Think she really _did_ get it?"

That David had asked that particular question and not, as he had feared, had questioned his judgement on the situation was affirmation enough for Don. He knew he'd made the right call. Give Colby the time he needed. Keep up the cover of the FBI 'official' investigation to give Colby and the Brits time to move in the background, hidden from view and concealed from those who were prepared to tear a city apart to stop them. As David had said before, 'the bigger picture'. That's what mattered right now…. He nodded in reply to David's question. "Maybe. But I don't think she understands why she gets it yet, though."

David chuckled. "Okay, now you're just starting to sound like Colby!"

Don frowned in mock annoyance at his friend and broke into a broad grin. "Yeah, ya know? I think I'm starting to get the hang of this spying shit! Don't know what Colby was making such a fuss about, it ain't that hard!"

David shook his head and feigned a look of surprise. "God, please, not you too!"

That made Don laugh. A genuine laugh. The first laugh he'd had in days…

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The SUV trundled almost silently down a dusty track and rolled to a stop outside the dilapidated building. Micky Cox killed the engine and pulled on the parking brake. Silence flooded briefly into the cab and he turned around, one arm draped over the headrest of Diane's passenger seat. "All ashore who's going ashore!" The Englishman grinned nastily at the captive driver and turned away, throwing open the driver's door. Their captive glanced around wildly, the duct tape over his mouth muffling his protestations and begs for mercy. Colby ignored the frightened man and opened his own door, stepping out into the still, pre-dawn darkness of the desert. Already the sky in the east was lightening as the sun struggled weakly into a bleak, winter sky. Despite the time of year, the heat was already starting to rise in the desert. For the soldiers, it was almost like being back in Helmund Province and the killing fields of Afghanistan…

Colby climbed out stiffly and stretched. He still hadn't had that sleep he'd been promising himself. And now it looked like he'd have to just push any thought of some rest to the back of his mind for a few hours longer. Micky glanced at the big American, his gaze resting briefly on the fresh wound that left a bright red gash across the man's bicep.

"Your arm alright, Col?"

"Stings like a bastard, but yeah. I'm fine."

"You frightened the life out of the Guv back there, mate." There was a note of accusation in the Englishman's voice and Colby nodded apologetically.

"Trust me Mick, it was never my intention to cause her any concern. Nor to get goddamn shot at, bud. Still, she's happy that my bookcase was KIA." The big man grinned at his English friend and patted him on the shoulder. "Thanks, bud."

"For what?"

"For being the damn cavalry at just the right moment."

"Not a problem, old son." Micky grinned briefly back. "Right then. Suppose we'd better find out what matey-boy has to say for himself. Did you see the look he gave you when you got in the truck?"

"Oh, hell yeah." Colby's smile was almost a snarl. "He's off-balance, he's confused and this is _not _what he was expecting. My guess is that they probably had an idea you guys were on the way, but he was expecting the sniper to go down and then get away himself."

"Kinda what happened. Apart from the getting away part, that is."

"'E's bloody shitting bricks back there, Coxy." Marcus' heavy, Manchester accent made them both turn. "Thinks you two are playing rock, paper, scissors to decide who gets to shank the bastard." There was a note of dark relish in Marcus' voice as he relayed their captives' discomfort.

"Dibs I get first stab at that." Diane's voice was hard as she walked around the front of the truck. "Let's get the little shit inside, shall we?" She wrenched open the rear passenger door and grabbed hold of the trussed captive, dragging him across the seat and unceremoniously out of the truck. Micky grabbed the man's other arm and hauled him upright, pushing him back against the truck. He shifted his grip and grabbed a handful of the captive's jacket and turned, practically dragging the stumbling man into the gloom of the building.

Colby opened the door once more and collected his hold-all. He slammed the door shut and slung the bag over one shoulder. "Right then. Let's do this." He walked into the building, following in Micky's footsteps.

At the truck, Doug Cross turned to Diane, a quizzical look on his face. "Let's _do _this? Do they _really_ say that? I thought they just said that in the movies!"

Without a hint of mirth, Diane answered him immediately. "They really do, Doug. It's an American thing." She turned her head and flashed a grin briefly at her friend. "It means he's in business mode."

Doug returned the grin. "Oh, righty-ho. Understood." He watched her follow Colby into the building and muttered to himself. "I'll never understand these Yanks. I mean, we don't go all 'let's do this' and shit. We just get the hell on with it!"

"Well then Crossy, _get _the hell on with it, you dozy southern pansy!" Marcus gave his friend a sharp push in the small of the back and Doug stepped forward, glancing back at his partner.

"That constitutes striking a senior officer, _Sargent _Bowen!"

"What does planting a size eleven boot up a Captain's arse count as?" Marcus grinned as Doug playfully gave the man a shove on the shoulder and the two men headed indoors…

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The man yelped as Micky Cox roughly ripped off the duct tape covering his captive's mouth. The man stretched his face muscles, relieved to have the restriction removed. He could feel the cable-ties biting into the skin around his wrists. They were interlaced through the struts on the back of his chair. His ankles were bound to the front legs. A winding of duct tape clamped his arms to his torso. He couldn't move. And he was surrounded by four of the nastiest Brits on the planet and a very pissed off Internal Affairs deep cover operative…This was _not _going to be a good day…

"Let's start with something simple. Name." Colby barked out the words.

"You're supposed to be _dead_, Granger!"

"That' a bloody funny name, Col." Micky frowned and smacked the man across the mouth hard. "That's _not _what he asked, my friend."

"Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated." Colby's voice was flat and cold. "Name."

"You know this is pointless, right?" This response was rewarded with another, harder slap across the face. The man felt the sharp, tin taste of blood in his mouth and glared up at Granger, spitting the blood out of his mouth. "Yeah, that'll get you there, buddy…"

Micky Cox raised his hand a third time, but Colby held up his own. "No Mick, that ain't gonna work on this guy." Micky nodded and lowered his hand.

Colby dragged up another chair and sat down in front of the man, studying him. Casually, he started to talk…"Lemme guess. Standard Company training to resist interrogation situations, right? Done all the simulations, including that one where they hood you, lock you in a room and then start pretending to torture someone they've noticed you've bonded with in another room, but making sure you can hear it? Am I right? I'm right, aren't I?" Colby grinned. "Yeah. Been through that myself, my friend." He leaned in, the grin turning to a snarl. "For _real_." The captive swallowed nervously and Colby picked up instantly on the micro-expressions that flittered across the man's face. "Trouble is, these guys?" He jerked a thumb back at the waiting Brits. "They don't play by our rules, buddy. The Brits know ways of getting information outta people that won't even _leave a mark_. And guess what? I spent a _lotta _time working with these guys. Some of that shit rubs off." He let the words sink in slowly, each one gnawing away at the man's resolve. The threat of violence, especially long, protracted and _incredibly painful _violence could prove a powerful motivator, without ever having to resort to that violence. As far as the man strapped to the chair was concerned, he was facing interrogation by a black ops British Special Forces team who interpreted the niceties of conventional methods a little more…_loosely_…

He folded.

The penetrating stare of Colby Granger had been known to unnerve the most hardened of criminals. And although he was a Company man, he was just a driver. Just a back-up man. _These _bastards were the real deal…

"Franklin."

"What?"

"Jeff Franklin. That's my name."

"Okay then, Jeff Franklin, we're finally getting somewhere." Colby sat back. "Who sent your trigger-happy buddy, Jeff?"

"You know who."

"No, I don't. I want a name. An actual name, Jeff. I wanna know _precisely _who ordered the burn on me."

"It's not a burn."

Colby frowned. "Sure as _hell _felt like a burn to me, bud…"

"The Company didn't order the hit."

"So you're _freelancing_, Jeff?"

"No, that's not what I meant. Look Granger. You've caused some real shit in Langley, buddy. A lotta people got hit with the shit over Operation Amber Room. Some big players with a lot of skeletons in cupboards knew there'd be a backlash. So when Enigma was set up to hunt down any last weak links, a crap-load of chickens started comin' home to roost, buddy. Some of those weak links have got some pretty strong pals, Granger. And they're covering their asses like a bunch of freaked out frat girls at an orgy!" Franklin strained against the restraints and shuffled in his seat uncomfortably. "You, my friend, are top of their to do list."

Colby sniffed sharply, a steely look coming into his green eyes. "This is all very interesting, Jeff, but I did three years interrogation techniques in the army. Add that to my experience with these guys and I can tell you I _know _when someone is talking just to stall. I don't wanna hear about Langley. I don't wanna hear about all the supposed shit I'm causing. This is all shit I already know. I don't wanna hear it again. I just want a _name, _Jeff." The last words were snarled viciously. Franklin knew any of his interrogation resistance techniques were useless right now. He was facing a practised, experienced and ruthless interrogator...

"Burkess."

"Walter Burkess?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, have to say that's not a complete surprise." Colby sat back again and rubbed his nose. "Right then. _Now _we can move on to the why."

"I told you. You were getting too close."

"Old news."

"Yeah? Well news_flash_, buddy, Burkess ain't gonna stop at one failed hit. He's gonna keep coming after you until you're six feet in the ground, Granger."

In the background, a muffled ring of a cell-phone trilled through the air. Colby glanced over at his hold-all and frowned. The phone that was ringing was the one he'd told Lawrence to contact him on. The clean phone he'd made sure was untraceable earlier. He glanced at Diane and nodded towards the bag. She nodded silently back and walked quickly across the room, reaching into the hold-all and pulling out the phone. Wordlessly, she flipped it open and listened. Without responding to the voice on the other end of the phone, she walked silently back to Colby and held the phone out to him. "I think you better take this, love."

Colby looked up at her. "Who is it?"

Diane's face darkened. "Walter Burkess…"

Colby turned back to Franklin, a dangerous and dark smirk on his face. "Well, _talk of the devil…"_

_**TBC….**_


	25. God's Work

Disclaimer & Author's apology:

Firstly, apologies to everyone for the delay in this update. This was due to work commitments that had me writing anything from 4,000 to 8,000 words a day for the past few weeks, so as you can imagine, the last bloody thing I wanted to do once I'd finished work was write some more…

Usual disclaimer applies, ya know, about me not owning anything to do with the regular Numb3rs characters. The Brits and the story, however, are mine, miney mine, mine, mine!

Also usual warnings for bad language, unintelligable Cockney slang and violence.

And if you were expecting one of the usual smart-arse disclaimers, tough. It's early, I haven't had a coffee yet and my 'comedy' muse is running an errand and won't be back until Thursday afternoon…

3333333333333333

"You know full well this has trap written all over it in big, fuck-off shiny letters Col, right?" The team had left Franklin bound and gagged and had moved into another room, away from treacherous ears and accusing eyes. Micky Cox sat back on the corner of a table, his arms crossed over his chest and a serious cast in his eyes. All the fun, the sparkle, the mischievous twinkle had gone. Micky and the others knew exactly how this would play out. Nothing they could say or do would stop Colby meeting with Burkess. Absolutely nothing. Colby would make that meet, no matter what. All they had to figure out now was the best way to make sure he walked away from it still upright and breathing. "I mean, you're not planning to do that whole, bloody stupid and guaranteed bullet with your name on it going in alone shit are you?"

"What, are you _crazy_?" Colby snapped the phone shut and grinned at his friend. "Waddya think my name is, Micky, Colby _Dumbass _Granger? I'm not on some kinda suicide mission here, bud, ya know, taking one for the team and all that crap, dude, seriously, c'_mon_! We do that, I end up very dead, which, my friend," he wagged an accusing finger at Micky, "I have _no _intention of doing, and Burkess gets away with murder. Literally. Sure, he might be _dead _as well," Colby paused, frowning. "Actually, nope, scratch the might, you can depend on that, because I _swear _I am _so _gonna kill that son of a bitch given half an excuse! God_damn _it, he is _pissing me off!" _The momentary outburst vanished as quickly as it had erupted. Colby paced like a caged panther, talking as much to himself as he was to Micky Cox. "Yeah, he'd be dead but his reputation and his organisation would still be intact. Mick, I don't give a fuck about Burkess. He's just a means to an end. What I _do _give a fuck about is what's _behind _Burkess."

Colby swung a chair around and sat down. He stared hard at his friend, the vivid green eyes burning with passion as his mind worked through every angle… "And no, I ain't going in alone. At least…" Colby threw a questioning look around the circle of friends that surrounded him. This was as much his team as Don and David were. This was a team he could trust. But he would never blindly assume that they would follow his every order. The Brits were funny like that. If they thought your order was a pile of crap, they told you so. With the utmost respect, of course… "I was kinda hoping you guys would join the party."

"Blimey, you have to even _ask_?" Marcus Bowen grinned, his deep, northern accented voice carrying an accusatory note. "When have we _ever _been known to miss a party?"

"Can't remember missin' a single one of your knees-ups, mate." Doug grinned and winked conspiratorially at the American. "Things are always interesting whenever we work with you, you bloody nutcase." Doug shrugged. "I like interesting. Damn sight better than sitting on your arse picking yer nose all day in a barrack room on down time. Tell me who you want whacked, point me in the right direction and I'll take a couple of pot shots at the bugger for ya with extreme prejudice. I'll even wing the sod if you don't want him killed. Your call, squire." Doug's East London accent slipped through the more neutral timbre he usually adopted. Both he and Diane were Mile End kids born and bred. But through their abilities and talent both had risen to become officers. However, you can take the kid out of East London, but you can't take East London out of the kid. And these particular East Londoners were spoiling for a fight…

Micky had been quiet up until now. Slowly he stood up and picked up the pacing where Colby had left off. He suddenly stopped and turned, staring hard at his friend. "Ever read any Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Col?"

"Sherlock Holmes? Of course."

"Does the name Moriarty mean anything to you, bud?"

"I don't get the point, Mick…"

Micky suddenly grabbed the back of Colby's chair and span the man around to face him. Their faces were inches from each other and Micky spoke quietly. "Holmes' nemesis, old son. Professor Moriarty. They played game after twisted game trying to outwit each other while around them _people died_, Col. Innocent people. Just pawns in some kind of intellectual, sick game of chess. Don't let Burkess lure you into the same kinda game, my friend. Don't let him become your bloody Moriarty. Don't start _enjoying _this, Granger." Micky stared hard into Colby's eyes, looking for any trace of the madness he had seen in Diane's eyes all those years before.

Colby didn't answer for a second – he merely held Micky's gaze. A slow, subtle smile pulled at the corners of his mouth and he quietly lapsed into Farsi, a language he knew Micky spoke fluently. "Sherlock Holmes always had an ace up his sleeve, Micky."

"Which was?" Micky answered back in the Persian language. He knew neither Doug nor Marcus would understand their conversation.

"He had Doctor Watson watching his back." Colby's cold, emotionless stare spoke volumes to the Englishman. Micky nodded curtly and straightened up, patting Colby on the shoulder. He looked briefly at Diane. She _did _speak Farsi. Fluently. She had understood every word and the briefest of glances from her and an almost inperceivable nod reassured Micky that one of his oldest friends was still just about on the _right_ side of crazy…

"Burkess'll have his own back-up, Col." Diane's voice was quiet and serious. "Probably ghosts, but they'll be there, moseying around in the background and generally being obnoxious little buggers." Her own East End accent made the words clipped, short and sharp.

Colby smiled gently at her and stood up, pushing the chair away. He moved closer to her, putting one arm around her waist and kissing her tenderly on the brow. "I ain't scared of no ghosts, baby. Especially when I've got my own team of Ghostbusters right here, yeah?" He raised an eyebrow and Diane stared hard at him. For a few seconds she said nothing, but Colby knew that almost feral look that flickered in her eyes.

Poker faced, she shrugged. "If you think I'm wearing a grey jump-suit and carrying a damn atomic ghost sucker-upper thingy on a stick on my back, you've got another thing coming, Granger." Colby laughed and kissed her hard on the mouth, ignoring the smirks and the sound of Micky clearing his throat.

"Um, Guv? Do you guys want a couple of minute's privacy here?"

Colby broke the kiss and glanced over at Micky, grinning broadly. "What's up Mick? Getting' jealous?"

"Bollocks, you wanker."

"Why is it a race of people that manages to construct the finest, most complicated and most literary insults, you Brits still stoop to 'bollocks, you wanker' when you've got nothin' else left?"

The three Englishmen glanced at each other and then directly at Colby. They spoke with one voice…"Bollocks, you wanker!"

Colby let out a shout of laughter, genuine, and almost with a sense of relief. He knew that these men had his back. Their casual, bone dry and sarcastic wit told him that they were willing and ready to take his lead on this operation. Even Diane's flippant remarks carried with them their own meaning. Underneath the seemingly disrespectful and rude banter was a simple message. You're CO. You order it, we do it. They were looking to him to take command. Colby could ask for nothing more from the most dangerous, ruthlessly professional and expertly capable bunch of crazy-arsed Brit bastards in the world. In that moment, he finally began to see a light at the end of the tunnel. And this time, thank fuck, it wasn't an oncoming goddamn train…

3333333

Micky Cox rammed the power connection into the back of the laptop and fired the machine up. His eyes never left the screen as he punched in a sequence of code. The laptop screen blazed into life and a cascade of files, photographs and documents filled it from corner to corner. Colby leaned forward, watching closely over Micky's shoulder. "From the top, Mick."

Micky started reading out the words on the screen. Behind the two men, Doug and Marcus checked and rechecked two .338 sniper rifles, slotting laser-guided night-scopes into place and screwing bulbous silencers onto the ends of the barrels. They glanced briefly across as Micky began reading loudly enough for them all to hear. There was not enough time to do a full brief and a weapons check and prepare. They worked simultaneously, taking in the briefing and automatically going through the C&P drill they knew by heart. Diane listened quietly in the back. The effects of the morphine she had been pumped full of in the hospital had now almost faded to nothing and the pain of aching muscles and open wounds was sapping her strength. She felt hot and cold at the same time, and a bead of sweat trickled down the back of her neck. She should be in a hospital bed. She knew that. But she fought desperately to hide any signs of fatigue from her colleagues. There was no way she was going to abandon Colby now…

"Walter William Burkess. Born Seattle nineteen fifty…"

"Skip the bloody bio, Mick. Just tell us what we need to know." Diane's voice was sharper than she had meant it to be and she inwardly flinched. Colby shot her a concerned look. He hadn't missed the edge in her voice and knew her well enough to know that she was in pain. He held her defiant gaze for a few seconds and turned back to Micky, his face expressionless.

Micky carried on. "Sorry Guv. Head of some shady department nobody's ever heard of at Langley. Been with the Company for fifteen years. Nothing before that, though." He peered closely at the screen. "Standard...yeah, standard record wipe. Pretty thorough from what I can make out, too. He only pops up in official records in nineteen ninety one, right at the start of the Balkan war in Yugoslavia. He was stationed at the Prague embassy, pretty low level, ya know, a field agent who thought that John le Carre wrote actual bleedin' manuals for spies and was all upturned collars, trilby hats and dodgy passwords in dark alleys. Nothing major on him, just seemed to run a network of informants who had relations in Yugoslavia and kept them updated about the conflict. Then he drops off the grid again and resurfaces in two thousand in Pristina, right at the start of…"

"…The Kosovo war." Colby finished the sentence for Micky and straightened up, his eyes closed and a pained expression on his face. "Burkess. I _knew _that name rang a bell when I first heard it." He looked across at Diane. Her face was blank. But he could sense the boiling rage simmering just below the surface. Burkess. The betrayer…

They finally knew now who had given them up to their torturers all those years ago. The pieces fitted. Aranamov hadn't been lying when he said that greater powers lay behind the treachery that had led to their capture and prolonged torture. Tyler had been right. The men behind this betrayal had links to them going back nearly ten years. Colby felt all the old, crushing rage, fear and hatred come pouring back into his soul. The same rage he had felt when he went looking for those who had inflicted the horror onto him and Diane. Men who had killed his friends, maimed innocent civilians and tried again and again to kill him.

"Enigma had him listed as a person of interest during the investigation, Col." Micky turned in his chair and looked up at his friend. "I can get into Enigma files, but it could take a while. The ones at this level are sealed beyond my pay grade, mate."

"Back door?"

Micky grinned. "Always, my sneaky American friend. There's _always _a back door in. I just gotta find it."

"Work on it, bud. Give me as much as you can." Colby straightened up and looked at Marcus. "Marcus, I'm gonna need comms. Can you work with what you've got and wire me up for sound?"

Marcus grinned and reached into a hold-all and pulled out a small case. He opened it and inside were ear-mikes, transmitters and receivers – all of them no bigger than a shirt button. Marcus held out the box for Colby to see, proudly displaying his 'toys'. "Never leave home without 'em. Borrowed 'em off a mate of mine in MI6. Well, I _say_ a mate, more of an acquaintance, really, And I _say _borrowed…"

"They'll do just fine, bud." Colby nodded. "I want a recording of everything that's said, Marcus. Every goddamn word."

"Consider it done." Marcus snapped the box shut and immediately went back to checking the rifle that rested in his lap.

"We're going to need a layout of the meet point. Where's he called it for?" Doug slid the bolt on the rifle home, swung the gun up to his shoulder in one smooth movement and squeezed the trigger. The gun clicked smoothly and Doug nodded approvingly at it, happy that there was no chance of a misfire or jam when he needed it least.

"MacArthur Park. The raised bandstand at the south end."

"That's gonna be a bitch to cover, Col. You've got overlooking sniper points on three sides, open ground in front, unknown terrain behind you. If Burkess has ghosts watching his back, they're gonna be an absolute bastard to hunt down before they get a shot in. Best wear a vest, mate."

"Doug, if they go for a kill it'll be a head shot. And unless you've got a kevlar beanie in your magic holdall, a vest ain't gonna be a whole heap of useful."

"You're wearing a damn vest, Colby." Diane briefly glared at the big American. "Non-negotiable."

The room stilled. Everyone in there had heard the sharp tone of Diane's order and Colby looked straight at the woman, his eyes locking with hers. "Guys, you wanna give me and Diane a few minutes please?" Colby spoke quietly, his eyes never leaving Diane. The three Englishmen exchanged glances and moved out of the room quietly, leaving the two ex-soldiers alone together. Colby waited until the door softly closed. He looked at Diane, watching her. Her gaze met his and didn't flinch. "You okay baby?"

"Not really, no." Diane shrugged. "But I've 'ad worse."

"Look Dee…"

"No Colby, _you _look." Diane stood up quickly and seemingly confident, hiding the pain that washed through her with effort. Colby saw through the attempt straight away… "Burkess has been ahead of us from the word go. He's been running bloody rings around us and you know it. So riddle me this, baby. Why's he so bloody keen to start talking to you now?"

"Because I asked him to."

"You _what_?"

"I asked him." Colby put a reassuring arm around her tired shoulders. He could feel the tension there and the way that she flinched as his arm rested against her muscles. She had never flinched from his embrace before and the sensation cut him to the core. He pulled her closer, trying to reassure her. "Dee, the only way we're going to find out what Burkess has planned is to damn well _ask _him. He's so certain that he's winning that I promise you, he'll do the whole James Bond evil villain thing and tell me everything. He won't be able to help himself. Get inside his head, baby. _Think_. What would you do in his position?"

"I'd've killed you six years ago."

Colby laughed gently. "Remind me to never piss you off, sweetheart!" He kissed her gently and guided her back over to the couch. Her complexion had a sickly grey tinge to it and he could sense that standing for any length of time was becoming an effort for her. Carefully, he sat down next to her, his arm never leaving her shoulders. As they sat, he felt her move into his embrace, reassuring him that her earlier flinch was down to tiredness and pain, not some kind of emotional response. "Listen baby. I _have _to end this. And yeah…" he held up a hand before she could interrupt. "I know it's dangerous. But I've got your boys covering my back every step of the way and I couldn't ask for more." He stroked her cheek gently and his voice softened. "But you're in no fit state to go into the field, baby." Diane frowned furiously and opened her mouth to speak, but again, he held up his hand, and his eyes hardened. "Dee, I can't go into this with anything else on my mind. And right now, I'm worried about you. You're not fit, baby. You _know _you ain't. Look at you, you can barely keep your eyes open! You've pushed yourself too hard, too early." He wrapped his other arm around her and pulled her close, enveloping her in a gentle, loving embrace. "You know I'm right." He kissed her brow and her eyes met his.

Diane felt drained. Exhausted. Frustrated to the point of fury because she knew Colby _was_ right. If she went in on the operation, she'd be a liability. A distraction. But she could still help…"Okay."

"Huh?" Colby feigned surprised. "What, _really_? Just like that?"

"Don't push it, Granger."

"You really _must_ be feeling crappy."

"Wanna bloody join me, smart-arse?" Diane glowered at him. "Don't think I'm backing down here, Mister cleverclogs. I know in my present state I'm a bleedin' liability in combat right now. But there's another team that could probably do with knowing what's going on, don'tchya think?" Her eyebrow arched questioningly. "Col, you have a duty to keep Don and David in on this. It involves them as much as it does us now, baby. Micky's got your back, and the two lads are as good as gold. As long as I've got somewhere to sit down when me legs go a bit wobbly, I can still co-ordinate things with the Feds. Agreed?"

Colby chuckled quietly and shook his head. "God _damn _it woman, you're the most stubborn, tenacious, pig-headed…"

Diane bristled. "You running out of insults yet, or do you want some suggestions?"

Colby laughed gently and laid a finger on her lips. "As I was saying before I was _so rudely interrupted_, you're the most stubborn, tenacious, pig-headed, _beautiful, _courageous and _brilliant_ woman I have ever known. I don't know what I'd do without you, you know that?"

Diane stared straight into his eyes, her face completely expressionless. But behind the neutral mask, Colby could see a cascade of emotions mirrored in her eyes. She was tired. Desperately tired. And frightened. But there was a steely determination to her that pushed all of that to one side. All except the obvious concern she had for him…

"Just make sure I don't have to go through the rest of my life having to do without _you, _Colby." Her voice was a mere whisper. "I couldn't live, baby. Not without you. Don't make me do that."

Her head dropped onto his chest and he felt her own strong arms wrap around him. They sat there for a few brief, tranquil seconds. Just being together. Holding on to the one thing that meant everything to them. Each other…

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"Don, we got all _hell _bustin' loose out there. LAPD are in full panic mode." David burst into the war room and picked up a remote. He pointed it at the plasma screen and pressed a button. CNN news flashed onto the screen. A red, rolling banner announced riots across Downtown LA. The gang war that had been simmering just below the surface and held in check by an uneasy truce had burst into bloody, violent life. The image behind the banner showed a Chrysler on its roof, flames engulfing it. Scattered around the burning car lay still bodies. Gang members with scarves covering their faces braved the chatter of small arms fire to grab their fallen friends and drag them to safety. Don watched with mounting horror. It was blatantly obvious that for many of those limp, rag-doll like bodies the desperate attempts to save them had come too late.

A cacophony of telephones rang incessantly in the Bullpen. Agents worked furiously, trying to gather as much information as quickly as possible. Tim King's SWAT team had temporarily commandeered a corner of the office and were going through their own check and prepare routine before deploying to the riot zone. Agents checked their handguns and pulled on kevlar vests. LAPD had sent out a distress call to all agencies. They were overwhelmed. It was up to the FBI to respond…

David turned his back on the chaos behind them and looked at his boss. "This is bad, bud."

"Col was too late. Whatever those bastards have planned, it's already started."

"Not quite."

Don spun around and looked at the figure in the doorway. Diane Armstrong stood defiantly, but he noticed that she held onto the doorframe for support and her pale, drawn face told him of a woman who was on the verge of collapse. "Dee. Hey, am I ever glad to see you!" He moved quickly towards her and gently took her arm, supporting her. She didn't shrug his hand away but let him guide her towards a chair. David moved quickly – he too had seen how sick the normally strong, fit woman looked and he laid his hand on her back, ready to support her as well if necessary. Diane sank slowly down into the chair and paused, running a hand over her face.

"Good to see you too, lads." She puffed her cheeks out. "Whew! That's a long old walk from the foyer. Thought my legs were gonna fold under me in the lift." She flashed Don the briefest of smiles, glossing over the effort it had taken her to just walk from the elevator doors to the war room. Don laid a hand on her shoulder and pulled a chair towards him with his foot. He sat down next to her, his hand never leaving her shoulder and a look of deep concern on his face. Diane had become more than just another agent to Don. She had become a friend and he couldn't hide his worry for her.

"Dee, you look…"

"Like crap. Yeah, I know mate. And I'm really very grateful that people keep pointing that fact out to me so subtly." She patted Don's hand reassuringly. "I'm okay, Don, really. Just so long as I don't try to move too quickly." She glanced up at the plasma screen. "How bad is it?"

"Bad. What did you mean, Dee?" David perched on the corner of a table, ensuring he was in her line of sight without her having to move to see him. He too could see how close to collapse the woman was and, like Don, he considered her to be a friend. "Ya know, when you said it hadn't started yet?"

"This isn't what they've got planned. Believe me, this is small fry. Think about it, guys. Would another inner city riot undermine the presidency?"

"No." David shook his head. "The media are gonna have a field day and yeah, it's gonna be a mess for the Whitehouse to clean up, but ultimately, it's a state matter, not a federal one. It ain't gonna worry John Doe in Iowa."

"Exactly, David. Don, we've been joining the dots and this," she jerked her thumb at the screen, "was something we'd predicted. But it's not enough."

"So you're thinking it's a diversion?"

"Everything else has been so far, mate." Diane paused and her eyes closed for a second. Don's fingers flexed on her shoulder and she opened her eyes and breathed deeply. "I'm okay. Just give me a minute." She took the cup of water David had got for her gratefully and took a sip. Don noticed a slight tremor in her hand. She carefully put the cup down on the table and carried on. "Like David said, it's not enough. Colby's trying to find out now what else they've got planned."

Don's stomach twisted as she mentioned Colby's name. He knew that whatever Colby was doing it was probably a damn sight more dangerous than being in the middle of a downtown riot. "Is he okay?"

"My lads are with him."

It was reassurance, but Don wanted more. "Dee, if you know anything, sweetheart, anything at all…"

"That's why I'm here, Don. Colby needs you guys to get digging this end." She glanced out into the rapidly emptying Bullpen. "That is, if you've got any kind of a team left, mate…"

Don glanced up. Tim and his SWAT team had moved out, and the usual melee of activity had slowed. Clusters of agents were heading towards the elevators and down to the foyer. He frowned. "Yeah, I know. LAPD have called in a bunch of favours. They're having real problems trying to contain that riot. The whole area's full of federal buildings all screaming for help. Our guys are positioning themselves in key locations to stop any incursion into federal property. We've got banks, courthouses, schools and god knows what else down there."

Diane nodded. "Actually, that may work in our favour. Leaves us clear to give Colby the back up he needs without drawing any attention to ourselves."

David shifted on the table and frowned. "I dunno, guys. I got a bad feeling about this."

Don glanced up at his friend. "What kinda bad feeling?"

"That we're missing something. Something so damn obvious. If this riot isn't their primary plan, then what is? What's the _real _target, Dee? What could really make people think that they're not safe to such an extent that…" A low rumble echoed through the room and the two men glanced at each other and David grabbed at the edge of the table. "Earthquake?"

"Ah crap, that we do _not _nee…" Before Don could finish, the rumble grew into a roar and the entire building shook violently…

3333333

The foyer of the FBI building was full of agents, all heading off to their various assignments. Tim King barked orders at his SWAT team and they trotted in formation out through the doors. Guards were so busy checking agents out that they paid little attention to anyone coming in and a queue started to form in front of the metal detector arches.

Nobody noticed the slim, nervous looking man who slipped through the doors. Nobody paid attention to his blue FBI windcheater, a windcheater that was several sizes too big for him.

And nobody noticed the small detonator in the palm of his hand…

The man stood still in the centre of the foyer and closed his eyes. He knew this was the right thing to do. God had guided him to this moment. God had promised him a life of eternal paradise for his sacrifice. Sweat beaded on his forehead and he felt it trickle down his skin. In those last seconds, every sense was heightened to an extreme. He could hear his heart pounding in his chest, the whooshing of blood echoing in his ears as it pumped its last around his body.

He was surrounded by the enemy. They weren't innocent civilians. These were the people who had sent soldiers to his village. These were the people who had sent their drones whining across the Afghani countryside and bombed the village school. They had claimed the bomb had been a Taliban RPG, not one of their evil, cowardly weapons. He knew different. The Iman had told him so. And he had told him that their cause had supporters in this evil land – supporters who wanted to see the overthrow of their own, corrupt government and its puppet president. This wasn't an act of war. It was an act of _peace_. He did God's work. The work of Allah. His name would go down in history…

A small smile spread across his lips and he opened his eyes. He wanted his last memory to be the destruction of this stinking pariah of corruption and the death of its minions. His thumb rested on the small red button of the detonator…

Agent Paul Foster was a family man. His beautiful wife Audrey had just given birth to their third child. Dwayne. At last, Paul had the son he had always wanted. He loved his two daughters with the true passion of any father, but Dwayne was _his _boy. At last he had a son he could teach how to play baseball. Take fishing. Cheer for at Swim meets and football games. He checked his badge and patted his jacket breast pocket. In the wallet that nestled against his chest was a picture of Paul, his beautiful wife Audrey and Nancy and Rebecca, his two little angels. And cradled in Audrey's arms was their pride and joy, their little Dwayne. The picture had been taken only three days earlier and he had shown it to everyone in his team with pride and had basked in the warm congratulations from his friends with a beaming smile.

He glanced around the foyer. Jesus, the balloon really had gone up… He fiddled with his earpiece and adjusted the mike on his wrist, making sure they were both secure. His partner was dawdling by the water fountain and Paul frowned briefly. "Andy, seriously? C'mon! We've got orders, ya know."

Agent Andrea O'Mally straightened up and ran her fingers quickly over her mouth, wiping any droplets of water from her lips. "Okay, okay! I had to leave a perfectly good cup of coffee on my desk and I'm parched." She buttoned her suit jacket and started towards her partner, smiling at his obvious impatience to get going. That was Paul. Always wanting to be in the thick of the action… Andrea was a slim, blonde petite woman with a black belt in Tae Kwon Do and a degree in Criminal Psychology. She'd aced the Academy and had been assigned to the LA office robberies unit. It was her third day on the job…

Paul Foster sighed and rolled his eyes. Damn newbies… He turned away as she caught up to him and started towards the door. Suddenly, he stopped, frowning. Andrea O'Mally barrelled into his back and swore. "Damn it Foster, you wanna get stop lights fitted to your ass or something?" She followed his gaze. "What? What is it?"

Paul ignored her and stared at the man standing stock still in the middle of the foyer. Something was wrong… Foster glanced at the man's right hand and his eyes widened in horror. In one move, he reached into his holster and drew his gun. "FREEZE!" He screamed the instruction at the man and a ripple of reaction flowed through the foyer as agents turned to look for the reason for Paul's yelled command. The man stood perfectly still, listening to the sound of his enemies fruitlessly pulling out their guns. It was no match for the vest made of high explosive he wore…

His eyes locked with Paul Foster's blue orbs. The dark eyes sent out a wave of hatred towards the man he didn't even know and he smiled slowly. He slowly brought his hand up so everyone around him could see the detonator, his thumb resting on the red button.

Paul watched as time slowed down.

He saw agents faces change from cold professionalism to sheer panic as the realisation sank in…

He saw those around him scattering in different directions, as if they were running through molasses…

Paul knew that there was no point in running. There was nowhere far away enough to hide, nothing to dive behind for protection, no way of avoiding the full force of the coming blast…

In that last instant, Paul saw an image of Audrey in his mind, laughing and holding their son. He'd loved her since high school. He loved her even more right now…

Mamoud Al Fari gave his heart to God and pressed the detonator…

The foyer of the FBI building became a fire-filled inferno full of flying concrete, glass and twisted steel. Bodies, the life already ripped from them by the blast, were thrown through the air, spraying blood and entrails across the marble floor. The glass doors exploded in a shimmering, lethal shower of death, spraying those outside with glass shards that were as effective as a hail of bullets. Dozens more died on the forecourt of the building and on the steps down to the path leading away from the building. Flame erupted out of the gaping holes, incinerating anyone in the way. The cataclysmic boom of the explosion vibrated through the solid concrete walls, fracturing them down to the rebar. Choking grey dust flowed like a pyroclastic flow through the foyer and rolled down the steps. In a few seconds, the noise, the deafening, screaming roar of a massive blast that sucked the air out of lungs and the skin from bones, died away. Silence descended…

From a pile of rubble a dust-covered hand flexed in an agonizing death throw, the fingers reaching upward, the wrist buried in the shattered remains of a column that hid the rest of the body. The fingers slowly relaxed and were still. A few inches away from the blood-covered fingers lay a picture. A smear of blood obscured the man's face. But still just visible was a young wife and two blonde, pig-tailed and beaming little girls. In the woman's arms was a newborn child.

A child who would never now learn how to play baseball with his father…

**_TBC…_**


	26. Bad things come in threes

Disclaimer

Sorry it's been a while coming kiddos, but this one needed a crap-load of thinking and planning. Anyhoo, usual disclaimer provides, please copy/paste the usual 'I don't own anything to do with Numb3rs' stuff here.

I do, however, own the story and the Brits. Usual warning for violence, strong language and Cockney slang that will make those of you _not _from Mile End go, "Sorry, _what_?"

Roll credits and wonky Numb3rs board…

333333333333333

"How did you manage it?" Micky Cox slid the bolt back on the Browning 9mm and checked the barrel. Without thinking, he tapped the magazine on the butt and slotted it into place, ramming the full magazine home and pushing the Browning into the back of his black combat trousers.

"Manage what?" Colby was in the middle of his own checks and slid the bullet-proof vest over his head. He secured the Velcro straps, making sure the vest fitted snuggly.

"Convince herself to stand down." Micky sat on the corner of a table and studied his friend.

Colby grinned in response. "Bud, she knew that going into combat in her present state would be a problem we all didn't need. It wasn't hard."

"Bollocks. I remember that tough old bird with a bullet wound in one shoulder, a dislocated elbow and a six inch battle knife gash across her stomach and she _still _managed to kick in a door, shoot two Taliban bastards and recover a CIA laptop that you lot had 'lost'!"

Colby let out a genuine laugh. "Man, I'd've paid to see that!"

"Wasn't so funny for Mohammed and Mustafa, I can tell ya. Poor bastards must've thought that the devil himself had unleashed a pissed off Cockney djinn on their arses! Ya know that look she gets when she's really cross about something?"

"Uh-huh. I know it well."

"So I ask again. How in the buggering hell did you manage to get her to drop the bone without getting your own arse drop-kicked from here to next Tuesday?"

Colby finished buttoning his shirt over the kevlar vest and looked at Micky. He shrugged and smiled quietly. "Let's just say I know what to say and how to say it."

"Did you drug her? You did. You drugged her, didn't you?"

"What? NO! Micky! As if I would do such a thing!" Colby looked affronted and then briefly grinned again. "Actually, that was next on the list if the gentle persuasion didn't fly."

"You're a bad, _bad _man and you're gonna burn in hell, Colby Granger." Micky grinned back at his friend. Both of them knew that they were avoiding talking about the obvious situation by 'barrack room bantering' about a trivial matter. But it couldn't be avoided forever. Micky sighed and broke the silence. "Seriously, Col. Are you sure that calling Burkess out is the right move?"

For a moment Colby looked thoughtful and stared at the floor, anxiously rubbing at his left ring finger as if fiddling with some imaginary ring. He glanced up and Micky could see a flash of uncertainty in his friend's eyes. It disturbed him deeply – Colby Granger had always been very sure of every move he made. His ability to 'read' a combat situation was the very thing that made him such a good counterintelligence expert. Uncertainty wasn't part of the plan. Uncertainty could get them all killed…

"Col?"

"Honestly, Micky? I'm not. But what other alternative do we have?"

"We've got enough to bury the fucker up to his neck in shite. Couldn't we just take what we've got and…"

"No, Mick, we couldn't. Who would we take it to, bud? No, I need it straight from his own mouth. Marcus has me wired up and if I can get Burkess to talk to me, we might have a shot at bring the whole house of cards down around his ears."

"And if this isn't so much a meet and greet and more of a meet and kill?"

"Then you can make sure they put 'Here lies Colby John Granger. He was wrong about that one' on my tombstone, bud."

"Col, I promised Dee I'd keep you alive. Don't make a liar out of me." The humour had vanished from Micky's voice. Colby stood up and laid a gentle hand on his friend's shoulder.

"That's one thing I'd never do, Micky. You have my word on that."

"I'm holding you to that, Granger."

The door opened and Doug Cross strolled in, a bemused look on his face. "That little shit Franklin's whining like a teenager about his rights and how we don't have the right to hold him here, yada yada. Want me to put him out of our misery?"

Colby shook his head. "No. I want no more murders on my conscience, Dougie." For a moment, Colby looked exhausted – tired of all the killing, the lies, the treachery. He looked up at Doug, his green eyes filled with sadness. "Too many good people have died already, bud."

"He's not a good person, Col."

"He's still a person, Dougie. He has rights. Remember that." Colby turned his back on his two friends and started re-checking his equipment. Doug glanced over at Micky, a questioning look on his face. Micky frowned and just shook his head, the unspoken comment instantly understood by Doug. 'Leave it. Col knows what he's doing…'

33333333

Don's world had literally exploded. He stood next to the taped barrier that had been set up around the entrance lobby to the FBI's Los Angeles building, knives stabbing into his guts as he watched yet another bodybag being gently carried out by fire crews. Tears rimmed his brown eyes. Fifteen years with the Bureau and what had it achieved? Friends, colleagues, all of them good men and women had died today. Died suddenly, violently and savagely. Blood ran along the cracks between the paving slabs and the smell of death was everywhere. Stunned, injured agents sat around, their wounds being hastily patched up by overstretched medics. The enemy had brought the battle to their very doorstep in spectacular style…

David quietly walked up behind his boss and laid a hand on Don's shoulder. Don just stared into the smashed concrete abyss that had just half an hour earlier been a high security, high tech entrance lobby. "What's it all for, David?" He turned abruptly and stared deep into his friend's eyes. "What we do? All this? What's it all for?"

David chose his words carefully. He knew that at moments like this, Don depended on him to be the rock he could cling to in desperate waters that threatened to drown him in a sea of doubt. His fingers flexed on his friend's shoulders. "So that things like this don't happen to people who _can't fight back_, Don. So that we can find the people behind this and bring them to _justice_. And…" he gave Don a small smile, "so we can go home to the people we love at the end of the day and know they're _safe_. That's why we do it. You wanna walk away now? From this?" David waved a hand at the scene of carnage and destruction in front of them. "You wanna turn your back? Say it's too much to deal with?"

"No."

David smiled again. "Nor me, brother. Nor me. And right now, Colby's bustin' his ass trying to stop anything else like this happening. The least we can do is work our end like the _team _we are, Don."

Don nodded. He knew David was right. He knew that, no matter how deeply traumatised he was by the sight of the supposedly safe world he had known for fifteen years being blown to pieces by a suicide bomber, there were still nine million people out there depending on him to stop it from happening again. There were the families of at least sixteen agents who wanted answers. And there was a member of his team, a _friend_ that he loved like a brother, out there alone, with just three SAS buddies to back him up… He sniffed sharply and rubbed a hand over his face, wiping away the grief, the pain and the doubt. He did what Colby always did. He pushed it deep into a mental filing cabinet and shut the door on it. There would be time to grieve later. There would be time to take a long, hard look at his life after he had brought those responsible for this atrocity to _justice_…

Nikki trotted up to the two men, dirt smeared on her normally flawless complexion and a serious look in her large, brown eyes. "The building's safe. We can go back in through the back entrance. Deputy Director Collins is briefing all SACs in twenty minutes in the war room. LAPD are swamped with the riots downtown and we're getting reports coming in across the city of…"

Nikki stopped in mid-sentence as yet another bodybag was carefully carried out in front of them. Seventeen dead. Five more unaccounted for. It was the FBI's worst day ever…

The three agents watched in silent, grief-filled respect as the black, plastic shroud containing the body of Agent Paul Foster was carried out. The site of the bodybag steeled Don's resolve and he frowned angrily. "Get upstairs, both of you. I want you to co-ordinate the response from our team, David. Nikki, liase with LAPD. Get me everything and anything you can."

"What about getting Charlie in?"

"I don't want Charlie anywhere near this, David. It would be…too much for him." Don shook his head and abruptly walked away.

Nikki stared after her boss. She hadn't known him for long, but seeing him rattled like this shook her own wafer-thin confidence. David saw the uncertainty in her eyes and patted her on the shoulder. "Nikki, Don needs us to do our job right now, okay?"

Nikki nodded, trying to push down and suppress her own desire to just sit on the corner of the sidewalk and weep. They had a job to do…

David glanced around, frowning. "Where's Dee?"

"Diane? I thought she was with you?" Nikki shook her head, her curls bouncing and sending particles of dust scattering from her locks. They all looked like earthquake victims right now, but appearance was unimportant in the grand scheme of things.

"No, she came out with us, but in the panic we must've got separated…"

33333333

Diane Armstrong watched the emergency response from a distance, the cell phone pressed to her ear. She had already spoken to her bosses at the NSA, British military intelligence, MI6, Hereford and Langley. She had one more call to make…

"_Granger_…"

"Colby, it's me." Diane turned her back on the chaos for a few seconds. "The Bureau's been hit. Suicide bomber. Blew the shit out of the lobby. We've got a lot of dead people here, baby."

_"Jesus! Don? Dav…_"

She interrupted him, reassuring him that his friends were safe. "…They're okay."

_"Are you okay, baby?"_

"I'm fine. Look, sweetie, whatever Burkess is planning, it looks like it's started. The rozzas are swamped trying to stop the riot in the downtown area, the FBI's tied up with this and I have no idea what's next. You know they say bad things come in threes?"

"_Give me your best guess."_

"Best guess? Jesus, Colby, we're dealing with complete sociopaths here, your guess is as good as mine. Burkess said LA was gonna burn and he wasn't fuckin' joking. Listen, I'm going to go back in and start trying to put together the pieces. You just make sure…"

"Give me the phone, Agent Armstrong." The voice was flat, cold and sounded like it had a gun to back it up. Diane turned and stared straight into the business end of a Glock. The man behind the gun smiled nastily and raised an eyebrow. His voice was soft, menacing and shot through with steel. He held out a hand. "Nice and slow. I know who you are,_ and_ what you're capable of. One wrong move and your glittering career ends right here, right now. Give me the phone _now." _

Diane stared at the man, her green eyes darkening. A feral smile spread across her lips. "Colby? Sweetie? _Bit _of a problem my end. I'm being kidnapped at gunpoint. Apparently, this pratt wants to talk to you."

_"Dee? DEE!"_

Diane held the phone out, the feral smile still on her lips. "Make it good, my friend."

The man snatched the phone from her hands and held it up to his ear. "Agent Granger. For a dead man walking you're damn hard to kill, you know that? Listen very carefully, or the next time you see your girlfriend will be at her memorial service, understand? Mr Burkess feels that a meet and greet is a good idea. But just in case you have any…_ideas_, we're taking Agent Armstrong somewhere safe until all this is sorted out."

_"You harm one hair on her head, my friend and I SWEAR…"_

"Agent Granger, your threats are pretty damn hollow right now. Just do exactly as you're told and perhaps, just _perhaps _you might both get out of this alive." The man shrugged. "Then again, you might not. It's been a bit of a strange old day all round today, isn't it? MacArthur Park. North East Corner. The old community centre. One hour. _Alone_, Granger. Any of your bastard Brit fuckers show their faces, you and Diane die instantly. Understand?" The man waited for Colby to respond…

33333333

Colby's grip tightened on the phone and a look of absolute fury darkened his normally gentle, jovial face. "Understood." He shut the phone and hurled it across the room, the casing shattering into a hundred pieces.

Micky flinched at the explosion of fury from his friend, deep concern furrowing his brow. "Col?"

"They've got Dee."

"_What_?"

Colby ignored his friend and pushed past a startled Doug, marching out through the door and into the next room. Marcus looked up sharply as Colby entered. "Everything alright, Guv?"

Colby ignored the question and grabbed hold of the still-tethered Jeff Franklin. The red mist descended and his first blow rocked the man's head back, a shower of blood spurting from his mouth.

"WHOA! COL!" Marcus leapt up and tried to stop the big American beating their captive to death. Blow after blow rained down on Franklin, Colby ignoring Marcus' struggles to pull him off the battered, bleeding man.

"WHERE HAVE THEY TAKEN HER?" Colby's fists flew at a frightening speed, each punch delivering more pain and broken bones. "_WHERE IS SHE?" _He felt the man's cheekbone shatter under his fist, but the sensation merely spurred him on to more savagery.

"COLBY!" Micky and Doug sprinted into the room and immediately took in the tableau in front of them. Micky grabbed Colby's arm as it pulled back to deliver another blow, his own powerful strength competing with the bigger man's. Doug wrapped his arms around Colby's waist and the three men finally managed to drag Colby off Franklin, Micky twisting and putting himself between the semi-conscious man and his friend. "COLBY! LOOK AT ME! _LOOK AT ME!" _For a second, Colby's utterly furious, penetrating stare focused on his friend. Micky could see the madness behind the eyes and he pushed Colby back further, Marcus and Doug still holding onto him and moving as one. "This is NOT gonna get Dee back, Col! THINK!"

Colby felt the opposite wall at his back and the three powerful soldiers gripping him. His breathing was heavy, but slowly, the madness that had descended started to clear, the fog in his mind dissipating. He looked past Micky at the beaten and bloody form of Frankin, still tied to the chair, his head lolling on his chest. The man was gurgling, choking on his own blood…

The three soldiers felt Colby's muscles relax and they gingerly slackened their grip on their friend, ready to restrain him again should he launch a second attack on their captive. It didn't come. Colby closed his eyes and slowly slid down the wall, crouching with his head dropped forward, battling to bring his emotions under control.

Micky glanced back at Franklin. "Marcus, check that pillock's still alive, would ya?" Marcus nodded and carefully let go of Colby's left arm. "Doug, call Don. Speed dial three." He tossed a phone at his friend. "Tell him what's happened. Go." Doug nodded and flipped open the phone, walking off to a quiet corner to have the conversation.

Micky crouched in front of his friend, his hand resting carefully on Colby's shoulder. "Col? Hey, c'mon, Col, head's up mate. Look at me. Col…" Colby's head slowly came up, the green eyes still closed. Micky could see the tension in every muscle – his friend was like a coiled spring ready to explode again. "Open your eyes, Col. _Look at me_."

The green eyes slowly opened and Colby stared straight into Micky's own piercing blue eyes. "They've got Dee, Micky. The bastards have got Dee!" Colby's voice was a hoarse whisper, the words sticking in his throat.

"I know, mate. I know. But while beating Franklin to death might make _you_ feel better, but it ain't gonna get her _back_. Now tell me exactly what the bastard said to you."

"MacArthur Park in an hour. Alone. Or Dee dies." Colby's head dropped forward again as the fury rose up in him again."

Micky swore quietly. "Col, listen to me. They've done this deliberately. They're hitting you where they know you're vulnerable. You need to start thinking clearly if Dee's gonna get out of this alive. We'll be with you every step…"

"No Mick. You guys show up, it's over."

"Col, you're talking about three of the best ghosts in the business, mate. They won't even know we're there."

"They'll know, Mick. They're fuckin' good at what they do. Don't underestimate them." Colby glowered angrily at his friend.

"They're not as good as _we _are, Col." Micky grinned briefly. "_Nobody is_. Now pull yourself together and apologise to the nice, bloodied and battered man in the chair over there for trying to beat him to death."

"Fuck off, Micky."

"Colby, we're going with you. Don't even think about arguing with me." Micky's voice was suddenly hard. "Dee's my friend too. And I promise you I'm gonna do everything I can to get you both out of this alive, understood? _Understood_?" Colby nodded slowly. Micky patted him on the shoulder and stood up, offering his hand out to his friend. Colby grasped the hand and Micky hauled him back up to his feet. Micky locked gazes with the American one last time and smiled. The smile wasn't a nice one… "Right then. As you lot say, shall we do this?"

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MacArthur Park was quiet at this time of night. In the distance the scream of sirens could be heard as LAPD's finest battled to bring the downtown riot under control. The main trouble spots had been cleared but pockets of fighting between the gangs were still breaking out sporadically. The FBI building could be seen in the distance, its façade lit up in a vivid, flickering red and blue glow from the myriad of emergency service vehicles surrounding its jagged, shattered front entranceway.

Colby stood quietly in the shadows, listening intently to the symphony of a city in flames.

He felt as if he'd failed.

Diane, the woman he loved more than life itself, was a captive – held prisoner by the very man he was here to meet. He knew Burkess was easily capable of having them both killed in an instant without any regret, any thought for the lives he was so casually tossing away or with any shred of remorse.

Burkess was that most evil of men – a man who believed that what he did was done 'for the greater good'. And that included the shedding of innocent blood well then…so be it. In the twisted, distorted mind of Walter Burkess, his actions were those of a hero. Cutting out the cancer of a weak presidency through the self-fulfilling prophecy of all-out Civil War. Not the petty squabble between the North and South in 1861 but a civil war that would be fought in the very hearts and minds of every single American, regardless of whether they were a northern Yankie or a good ol' Southern boy. He would show them. He would give the people a common enemy. Its own government. By pointing out the weaknesses within the fabric of a corrupt society, he, Walter Burkess, the saviour of the _true _American way, would finally be recognised for the brilliant, benevolent man that he was, able to place himself amongst the ranks of the greatest of men. He really _was _standing on the shoulders of giants.

In Walter Burkess' mind, all of this was true. He felt justified. True madness had taken control and when the threat of exposure through Operation Enigma's penetrating investigation of corruption within the highest echelons of the security services had jeopardised his position, he reacted like any cornered animal. He went on the attack.

A lunatic idea, born in the mind of a madman had lead to the destruction of property, death and the possibility that something had begun that could not be stopped. Burkess had done his job well. Pitting terrorist against terrorist, enemy against enemy, fuelling the fires of discontent and frightening the FUCK out of the rest of the population would have the desired effect of uniting the people against their own leadership. The government would fall, a new, more _controllable _leadership would be sworn in and Burkess and his like would be safe once again, the true power behind the presidential throne.

It was a simple, straightforward fuckin' _pissing contest_! Colby smiled. He _hadn't _failed. Not yet. He finally understood his enemy.

And by knowing your enemy, you know their weaknesses…

"Good evening, Colby." The voice was quiet, measured and almost friendly. Colby turned and confronted the man who had caused him and countless others a lifetime of horrific dreams, nightmares and soul-destroying memories filled with pain and torture. Others had been more fortunate. They had died quickly. Now more innocents were added to Burkess' body count. Strange, how the most evil of men often appear to be almost affable when first met…

Colby smiled quietly. "Burkess." He nodded over his shoulder at a city that screamed in urban agony. "You've been busy."

Walter Burkess chuckled to himself and sat down on a low wall, still cackling quietly to himself, as if deeply amused by Colby's comment. "Oh, that?" He looked up, a wry twist to his lips and the flicker of madness in his eyes. He made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "It was nothing, really."

Colby recognised that look for what it was. It was the same madness he had felt for a brief second as he beat Franklin to within an inch of his life earlier. That sensation of being in utter control yet tailspinning towards the ground at a thousand miles an hour. The exhilaration of knowing that you were the instigator but no longer the master of events. Colby had managed, with Micky's help, to pull himself back from that ledge. Burkess, however, had leapt from it a long time ago and plummeted into the darkness of true, all-corrupting madness…

"This has to end, Walter."

"Oh, everything ends eventually, Colby. Even you. Me. Diane. Everything ends."

Colby slowly walked towards him, carefully plotting his path to ensure that Doug, hidden in the trees nearly half a mile away, still had a clear shot of his primary target.

On a pre-arranged safety word, Doug would take the kill shot. But under _no_ other circumstances was he to take Burkess out. Colby had been absolutely adamant on that point. A second safety word would let Doug know to wing Burkess. A simple shoulder shot would do the trick. Even if Burkess was Kevlar'd up, there was a weak spot just in front of the clavicle bone on the man's shoulders where the Velcro padding strips would be. From this angle, it was the only available shot for Doug to take…

During the briefing, Doug had glanced to Micky for confirmation and the briefest of nods from the Englishman had given it – do exactly what Colby says. And Doug was not a man to ignore a direct order…

The Englishman looked through the telescopic sight on his .338 sniper rifle and carefully adjusted it so Burkess' head was slap-bang in the middle of them. The tiniest of adjustments would give him the shoulder shot. It all depended on which code word Colby gave… He could hear the conversation in his earpiece. Marcus had done his job well – Colby was coming through loud and clear…

Colby stopped a few yards from Burkess and slightly to one side of him. From a top storey window in the old community centre, Marcus Bowen carefully shifted his weight and zoomed in on Burkess as well. The man was covered from two angles. Both were kill shots…

Behind a low wall, Micky Cox silently belly-crawled along the dirt, repositioning closer to cover Colby's back. As he shuffled up to a trash can, a rat, disturbed by his unexpected presence, squeaked sharply and jumped down from the can, landing on Micky's back. The man lay stock still as the rat scuttled along his shoulder and jumped down to the ground. Its passage rattled the can and both Burkess and Colby sharply turned towards the sound. As they did, the rat emerged from behind the wall, stopping once to sniff the air and stare with black, beady eyes at Burkess, its whiskers twitching. It wrinkled its pink nose at him and scuttled away into the bushes, vanishing in the darkness.

Behind the wall, Micky swore into the dirt silently. "I _HATE_ fuckin' RATS!" Even someone standing right next to his hiding place wouldn't have heard the words. He moved his head so he could tilt his eyes up, looking straight into Colby's green eyes. The American didn't even flicker. Not one, tiny, micro-expression gave him away. Burkess was completely unaware that just yards from where he sat lurked Colby's partner, hidden behind a seemingly innocent park wall. The very same wall that he sat on now…

Burkess looked back at Colby and laughed. "You'd really think the park authorities would do something about the rat problem, wouldn't you, Colby? Of course…" Burkess stood up and moved away. Behind the wall, Micky let out a silent sigh of relief… "When I'm in charge of things, we'll put street hygiene right at the very top of the agenda. I think the people will appreciate it, don't you?" Burkess paced, seeming to be deep in thought with every step.

"Absolutely." Colby shrugged. "Whatever you say, man."

Burkess stopped pacing and looked straight at Colby. He smiled. "And what of you, Agent Granger? Where do you think is _your _place in this mystery play?"

Colby shrugged again. "I guess I'm supposed to try and stop you."

Burkess let out a laugh, guffawing to himself. "Oh Colby, you're _priceless_, do you know that? Of _course _you're supposed to _try_ and stop me! That's what the taxpayer pays your wages for, right? But my goodness, don't you think those good people would be asking for a goddamn rebate if they _really knew about you_, Agent Granger?" The merriment in his voice vanished in a trace, replaced by a snarling, threatening tone. "If they really knew about your operations behind enemy lines in Pakistan? Of your involvement in covert ops in the Balkans? In Libya? Beirut? Poland? Afghanistan? Two years undercover for the Chinese? Being recruited into the CIA while you were still in the Army? All those places you _really weren't supposed to be in_, Colby? All the people you killed silently, like the assassin you really _are_? All the _executive orders _you carried out? You think that taking some pledge and fighting the good fight with your friends in the FBI will atone you for what you've done, Colby? You have as much blood on your hands as I do!"

In the trees, Doug swore quietly. "C'mon, Col, hold it together! Don't let the fucker push your buttons…" He willed the volatile American to not rise to Burkess' goading. If he did, then Colby would loose the game – and the war…

"So what's the alternative, Walter?" Colby kicked idly at a pebble. It was a sign to his three friends to be ready to move… "Huh?" He looked up at Burkess. "What's the alternative to all this killing? If only one of us walks out of here alive, there's gonna be too many people asking too many questions for the survivor to cover it up. If I survive, you can guarantee that everything you said will come out eventually. It'll _have _to. It will be the only way. I'll spend the rest of my life in prison on treason charges and the repercussions could mean the end of the special relationship we have with the UK because you know _full well _that this goes way further up the fuckin' food chain than just you or me, buddy!" Colby glared angrily at Burkess. "You made a mistake getting the Brits involved, buddy. They tend to take shit like this _real _personal."

"It was _you _that brought those lunatics in, Granger, not me. And you honestly expect me to believe that you'd fall on your sword for the good of your country? Bullshit, Granger! Nobody's that stupid!"

Colby's voice was quiet. "I'm prepared to accept the consequences of my actions, Walter. Are _you_?"

Burkess chuckled. "Aren't you forgetting one small detail here, Colby? A certain British military intelligence offer? Our very own Penelope Pitstop in peril? Wonder where she is right now, Colby, huh? What do you think? Tied to a train track going, 'Haylp! Haylp!' like some hapless little cartoon _victim_?" Burkess snorted with derision. "Do you have _any idea _how much I hate people like you, Colby? People who claim to defend their country but instead consort with some pathetic little Mata Hari from a second-rate country we shouldn't even have anything to _do _with?"

"You're an isolationist nut, you know that, Burkess?"

"An isolationist nut who has your _precious girlfriend _held somewhere very damp, very unpleasant and in, oh, about three hours," he glanced at his watch, "somewhere where she'll be very _dead_!"

Colby hadn't forgotten that this man had the woman he loved held captive somewhere. He needed Burkess alive. But it was taking every ounce of self-control he possessed not to say the safeword and watch as Doug's deadly accurate bullet blew Burkess' brains out. "So tell me. What's the alternative?"

"There is none, Colby." Burkess shrugged. "Obviously, you're not getting out of here alive. To be honest, I'm quiet surprised you showed up at all. But then, of course, we did do a little…_arm twisting_, didn't we?" He held up a hand. "No, no, don't worry. Diane is fine. For now." Burkess nodded at him and chuckled again. "But you're not in such a fortunate position." Colby glanced down and a red pinpoint of light danced across his chest and up his throat. The red dot flickered between his eyes. Burkess' sniper had Colby in his sights…

"You could have killed me at any time. Why wait until now?" Colby ignored the flickering light.

"Because I wanted you to know, Colby. I wanted you to know that all of your pledge of allegiance shit, all of your desperate attempts at compensating for your actions has been in vain, my friend. Because I wanted to see you break before you died for myself!" Burkess snarled the words at Colby. "In five hours, a member of the Free America Front will walk into a Muslim school in Los Angeles and, in the name of racial purity and out of revenge for the attack on the FBI, which, in his twisted little mind is an attack upon his beloved American state despite the fact that he hates the Feds as much as that poor, deluded fool who blew up your friends hates them, will proceed to blow the _shit _out of the place. That'll be the straw that breaks the camel's back, Granger. All out war within our own borders. It'll be months of recriminations, reprisals and all the time the government will thrash around wildly like a prickless eunuch! When the time is right, we'll step in and round up those responsible, seeing as we know _exactly _who they are since," and once again, Burkess chuckled dementedly, "after all, we are the ones paying them! We'll round them up, save the day, restore peace and order and bring about a new America! A better America!"

Colby stared wide-eyed at the man and chuckled himself. "Wow. You really are _nuts_, ain't ya? Seriously? The whole, 'I'm gonna rule the world' shit? _Really_?"

"Careful, Granger." Burkess scowled darkly at the man. "Remember your position. Remember _Dee's _position. Choose your words carefully. They could be Diane's _last_."

Colby scowled. "Now, ya see? That doesn't even make any sense! You're losing it, buddy. Seriously." Colby grinned and put his finger to the side of his head, wiggling it around in a circle. "Nuts. Completely nuts. That's gonna do wonders for the insanity plea when I put you in _jail_, Walter."

"Are you _trying _to antagonise me, Granger?"

"Bud, I wouldn't dream of it. You're too far out there as it is. You _honestly _think that this crazy plan of yours will work?"

"Who do you think kept McCain and Palin out of the Whitehouse, Granger? Huh?"

"Um, the _voters_?"

"Us! Not those pathetic, sheep-like proletariat! It was us! We thought Obama would be more…_malleable_. But the damn fool decided to go and set himself up as some sort of next generation Kennedy." Burkess smiled darkly. "And seeing as you're a bit of a JFK aficionado, you _know _how well _that _ended…"

"History repeating itself huh, Burkess? The grassy knoll all over again? C'mon man, people didn't buy it the first time around, they sure as hell ain't gonna buy it this time!"

"An assassin's bullet would just make Obama into a martyr. No Colby, I aim to _destroy _him! And there's nothing you can do to stop me!"

"Really?"

"Really!"

"Shouldn't you be laughing maniacally at this point? Or stroking a white cat or something?" The jokes were snarled out. Colby wasn't in a laughing mood.

"I'm_ tiring_ of you, Colby."

"So fix my patriotic ass to a fuckin' laser, Blofeld, and blow me to fuck and back!" Colby had had enough of the rhetoric. The red mist was dangerously close to overwhelming him again.

"I already have you at the end of a laser, Colby. Or had you forgotten?" Burkess smiled and the laser target that danced between Colby's eyes flickered again. Colby ignored it.

Marcus didn't.

The laser sight gave him a target to aim at. At the window of the community centre, Marcus Bowen swung the barrel of his .338 around and away from Burkess. He knew Doug had the primary shot at the older man. His job was to hunt down and eliminate any unfriendlies that may have joined the party. 'Blofeld' had been his safeword from Colby to take out any secondary targets... The heavy silencer on the end of the barrel reduced the accuracy of his weapon, but Marcus was an expert. He compensated for the additional weight and damping effects of the silencer on the bullet's velocity and aimed right down the beam of red light. In the magnified lens of the sight he could make out a head wrapped in a black balaclava, the whites of the sniper's eyes shining in his night-vision sight. The sniper wasn't even looking up at the building. His eyes were fixed on his target – Colby. He had _no idea_ that he was about to die…

Marcus' gun let out a muffled 'pop'. The red light that had danced between Colby's eyes shot up skyward and disappeared as the sniper fell back in the bushes, dead. Marcus had been deadly accurate. A damp stain spread into the thick wool of the balaclava and droplets of red blood trickled down the man's open, lifeless eyes and onto his cheek.

Burkess flinched and stepped back, looking around wildly. His head snapped back towards Colby and he practically foamed at the mouth with fury. "I said _alone_, Granger! ALONE!"

In an instant, Colby's A1 pistol appeared in the big man's hand and his face contorted into a snarl. "Where is she, Burkess?"

"You lied! You disgusting little _spy_!" Burkess' own Glock was already drawn and he pointed it straight at Colby.

Colby merely smiled nastily. "Light him up, boys!" In an instant, two red dots appeared, one flickering from a high vantage point in the community centre, another from behind Colby.

At the same instant, Micky Cox popped up from behind the wall, just yards away from Burkess. He hissed at the older man. "Drop it, Burkess!"

Colby was still smiling. "Did you _honestly _think I'd be stupid enough to walk into this little meet and greet without some heavy artillery backing me up? Didn't know who to trust from my own side, so I made a couple of phone calls." The grin turned to a snarl. "Pays to know who your _friends _are, as well as who your enemies are, buddy. And you, Walter, are _all outta friends_!"

Micky moved silently and quickly, hopping over the low wall and trotting to Burkess. He ripped the Glock from the man's hands and spun him around, kicking him sharply in the side of the knee as he did so. "On your knees!" Burkess dropped down, his eyes never leaving Colby. Micky wrenched his outstretched arms back and wrapped a thick cable tie around the man's wrists. It zipped shut and the man kneeled, trussed and bound, Micky's vice-like grip on his collar.

Colby holstered his gun and walked towards the kneeling man. He dropped down to a crouch in front of the older man. Hatred still filled Burkess' eyes and he snarled back at Colby. Granger looked at the man impassively and undid the top three buttons of his shirt. He pulled the material back just enough for Burkess to see the wire of a bug stuck to the outside of his Kevlar vest. Burkess knew every word had been recorded and heard by witnesses. Colby let the material fall back and stared intently at his captive. "It's _over_, Burkess. Over. Just tell me where Diane is."

Burkess chuckled nastily. "Somewhere where you'll never find her, Granger! And in three hours, she'll be washed away into that stinking, sewerage-filled sea that you both _so _love sitting by and staring out at the sunset! You haven't stopped _anything_, Granger! Nothing! That school will still be the spark that lights the fire. A shit-load of dead children? Oh, my friend, the repercussions will be un_stoppable! _ And do you really think you've got time to _torture _the information out of me?" He laughed again, a crazed sound of a man whose mind and sanity were shattered. "Save the girl or save the children? Which one you gonna go for, Granger? Because the clock's ticking! Tick, tick, tick…"

"Ya know, the last person who said that to me ended up with a bullet in his brain." Colby snarled at the man, his face just inches from Burkess' own. "Shot by someone I thought was a friend of mine. Funny enough, he tried to kill me as well. Oh, and lookit! I'm _still here_, buddy!" Colby stood up suddenly and looked at Micky. "You know what to do with this piece of shit."

Micky nodded. "Lawrence is sending a recovery team right now. I called him as you asked. Agents from Enigma are _so _lookin' forward to talking _at length _to this son of a bitch, Col. We'll get him to the airfield and meet up with Lawrence." He slung the FMP90 over his shoulder and held out his hand. Colby gripped it firmly and smiled at his friend. Micky nodded. "Now go find Dee before its too late, Col. We don't have much time."

Colby released his friend's hand and sniffed sharply. He looked one last time at Burkess and smiled. "You should read the Art of War sometime, Burkess. There's one piece of advice that kinda works here. Know what that is?" Burkess, puzzled by Colby's words, shook his head.

"No. What?"

"It says that a skilful soldier does not raise a second levy. Know what that means? It means you should never split your forces, buddy. And you did _exactly that _by taking Diane. Trouble is, my friend, I got myself _two _armies. I don't have to save the girl _and _the children by myself, bud. I got me a team. A team of people I trust who can stop your run of three, Burkess. They'll find that bomber. I'll find Diane. And you?" Colby stared deep into Burkess' eyes, turning the hatred back on the man. "You will have _lost_, Walter!" Colby sniffed sharply and stood back. "Get him out of here."

Micky yanked hard at Burkess' collar and dragged him to a waiting car. Marcus emerged from the community centre, cradling his .338 like a baby. From the treeline, Doug trotted up, breathing easily from the short sprint and also cradling a .338. "Marcus, go with Micky. Make sure Burkess gets on that plane. Doug? I need your help.

"Copy that Guv." Marcus trotted after Micky and Doug stood quietly by Colby's side watching his two friends take away one of the most treacherous men in American history…

"Orders, Guv?"

"Huh?" Colby blinked and turned to face Doug.

"We've got three hours, old son. Burkess was right on that. Clock _is _ticking."

"First I need to speak to Don. They need to be tracking down which school the Free America Front are intending to hit."

"And then?"

Colby looked deadly serious. "Then? Then, we save the girl, Doug. We save Dee…"

**_TBC…_**


	27. Lead from the Front

Disclaimer

HA! Caught you off guard there, didn't I? Weren't expecting another chapter for, oh, I dunno, a week or so, were ya?

Usual disclaimer applies, you know, me, them, not owning anything to do with Numb3rs, Brits, story, oh c'mon, you know the drill!

Usual warning for some naughty words and heart-pounding tension…

Roll credits and wonky Numb3rs board…

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Don sat in the SAC briefing, listening intently to the rhetoric of revenge. The fury, sadness and passion washed through the room in waves, drowning everyone in its path. They'd lost a total of twenty-one agents. Only one victim had been pulled out of the rubble alive. Agent Andrea O'Mally, just three days into her first assignment, had been rescued after spending two hours buried in precipitous rubble that threatened to crush her with every passing second. She was badly injured but alive. Her survival had acted as a beacon of hope for everyone in the room. It meant that, in some small way, the bomber hadn't been entirely successful in his suicide mission. But twenty one more pictures would be joining the wall of martyrs, their fresh, smiling faces a lasting memory of their time at the Bureau.

Don was exhausted. They all were. And there was still no word from Colby…

His phone chirruped urgently, drawing a frown from the deputy director. "I thought I asked you to turn your cells off, Don…"

Don mumbled an apology and glanced quickly at the caller id and took a sharp breath in. He looked up at the still frowning Deputy Director. "It's Colby." Immediately the room hushed. Everyone in there knew that Agent Colby Granger's mission was key to the bombing they had all lived through. Don had already delivered his part of the joint briefing.

"Well? Waddya waiting for? Answer the damn phone, Don!"

Don nodded and flipped open the cell. "Colby." He couldn't disguise the utter relief in his voice. "You okay?"

"_No time for chat, Don. Listen carefully. Burkess spilled his guts like the dickweed he is. This ain't over. Target three is a Muslim school in the LA area. Burkess has managed to goad some white supremacist nutters into bombing a Muslim target as some kinda twisted revenge for the FBI bomb. Panic the people with riots, show the FBI's vulnerable to attack and can't even protect itself, let alone the public and to top it all off, blow up a load of kids in a Muslim school to cause division. Basically, light blue touchpaper, stand well back, ya know? The whole thing will kick off a shitstorm if it happens, Don, the reprisals could be catastrophic. I don't know which school, but there can't be that many Muslim faith schools in the LA area. I need you guys to go after it."_

"What about you, Col?"

_"I've gotta find Dee. I'm sorry, but I've got less than two hours to find her, and you've got just over three hours to stop the bomber. Micky's got instructions to call you as soon as he's delivered Burkess to the CIA. He'll be in touch in about forty minutes. If he gets any more information, he'll call you before. It might be good to bring Charlie in on this, bud, we're gonna need everything we've got to stop this going critical."_

"Understood."

_"Good luck, Don."_

"Take care of yourself, bud." Don shut the phone, a serious look on his face.

"Well?" The Deputy Director and every other SAC was looking to him. Don looked around at a room full of determined faces - experienced agents ready to spring into action on his say so. He might be SAC for Violent Crimes, but right now the entire Los Angeles FBI was looking to him for guidance. The simple 'well' from the Deputy Director had effectively transferred every shred of authority over to Don Eppes. Every man and woman in that room knew of his remarkable reputation in the Violent Crimes Unit - the unit with the best damn clean up rate in the Bureau. VCU set the benchmark for all the other units to live up to. And right now, every single FBI agent in Los Angeles was on Don's team…

He stood up. This was what he did best. He led. From the front… "Right. This is what we know…"

333333

Colby snapped the phone shut and pushed it into a pocket. Doug watched his every move, waiting for instructions. Colby stood motionless for a few moments, frowning deeply.

"Guv?"

Colby didn't answer straight away. For a few moments more he simply stared into space, his green eyes unfocused. When he finally spoke his voice was soft, almost as if he were talking to himself…"He said she was somewhere wet, unpleasant and would be dead at six am. Somewhere that would wash her body out into the sea."

"Fuck, Col, that could be anything."

"No. No, it's gonna be something specific. Burkess is a dumbass, Doug. He thinks small."

"Well, you can actually drown in just six inches of water, you know…"

Colby looked at Doug in exasperation. "What?" The look turned to a frown. "Not helping, Dougie…"

"Sorry mate, just thinking aloud. Look, he mentioned her being tied to rails. Yeah, I know he was just taking the piss, but with these kind of sociopathic idiots, the clues are often in the little details, mate. He may have given you more information than you realise."

Colby nodded and sat down on the low wall. He had to rest just for a few minutes. Right now, he felt like his legs were turning to Jell-O and were about to give way underneath him… "Alright. So we've got water, she could be tied to something, a specific time…"

"Six am."

"Yeah, so what happens at six am? C'mon, _think_ Granger, _think_!" Colby castigated himself for not seeing the pattern. This is what he did. He saw patterns. They were as clear to him as numbers were to Charlie. But right now he was so tormented with a wealth of emotion, pain from the gunshot wound in his arm and utter fatigue that his mind was fogged. Normally, he could peel back layer after layer in a simple sentence and find the true meaning buried underneath. It was what made him such a good interrogator. Colby didn't just listen to what was being said. He listened to what_ wasn't_ said too…

"Tide?" Doug shrugged. "Could it be somewhere where the tide comes in at six?"

"Nope. Tide's around eleven thirty am this week."

"And you know that_ because_…" Doug was puzzled.

"Because I'm a surfer, bud. We kinda take note of things like tides. Saves a wasted trip to the beach."

"Okay, so it's not gonna be somewhere tidal." Doug sat next to his friend. "But, what? I dunno, somewhere where a large amount of water gets released at a specific time every day, perhaps? Anything like that around here? Damns? Overflows? That kinda thing? We've got this bloody great overflow in London. It's called the Thames. You wouldn't believe the amount of shit a city can produce when it sets its mind to it…"

Colby suddenly looked straight at the Englishman, his green eyes wide with realisation. "The Southgate dam!"

"The what now?"

Colby stood up quickly, all thoughts of fatigue pushed from his mind. "The Southgate dam! Every morning at six they release the water supply overflow into the southern conduit! It pumps straight out into the ocean, Doug, I damn near got washed away there a couple of years ago when we were working this fuckin' weird-assed case involving Primacy!"

"And Primacy would be?"

"It was a computer game this guy set up with a million bucks prize attached to it. We were looking for clues and one of them was at the Southgate dam. He sent us there just as the overspill got released. I damn near didn't make it. If it hadn't've been for Charlie…" Colby paused and looked intently at his English friend. "She's at the Southgate dam."

"How sure are you? We don't have enough of a window to make wild and very _wrong _guesses, mate. I hate to state the bleedin' obvious here, but Dee's life depends on you calling this one right, Guv."

Colby looked with utter respect at the man. This is why he always enjoyed working with the Brits. They respected rank as much as any American soldier did, but they did it in their own, unique way. Colby knew that Doug Cross regarded him as a senior officer, but he still spoke to him as frankly and as candidly as he would to a good friend. He knew Doug wasn't trying to put any additional pressure on him. He was merely stating a fact. A fact that twisted Colby's guts into knots. But Doug was right. He had to call this one right. There wasn't time for him to get it wrong… "Look, Burkess said he didn't just want to kill me, he wanted to _destroy_ me, right?"

"Right. Particularly unpleasant thing to wish on someone, if you don't mind me saying."

"Stop being so goddamn English, Dougie and listen to me! He knows what happened to me at the Southgate dam was pretty damn near terminal and really messed with my head for a while. I'll be honest with you, Doug, I'm a good swimmer and all, yeah? I mean, Jesus, bud, me and Dee spend every spare moment we can in the ocean! But that put me off going in the water for about a month afterwards. Seriously, it really scared the crap outta me. When they did a psyche evaluation on me afterwards, ya know, trauma counselling and all that BS, the Bureau loves all that shit, man…" Colby was speaking rapidly, the words almost a stream of consciousness. Doug sat back and watched the American, listening intently to where Colby was taking this… "When they psyched me I admitted about being scared to go back in the water for a while. It was in my record. We knew a while back that my files were being accessed by some department at Langley, Burkess' department! Burkess must've seen that, he's been watching me for a long time, bud. He'd've _known_!"

"So you're saying drowning Dee at the Southgate dam isn't just a way of getting rid of her, it's also a way of royally headfucking _you_ at the same time?"

"Exactly." Colby suddenly turned and stared hard at Doug. "Thanks, man."

"For what?"

"For helping me think straight. You were right, Doug. It's the little details. He did give us more information than he realised." Colby sniffed sharply, his face set in the most blood-chilling and determined expression Doug had ever seen on a man. The green eyes burned with a ferocious intensity. "She's at the Southgate dam. And we've got…" he glanced quickly at his watch, "exactly fifty seven minutes to get across town."

Doug struck a mock heroic pose and pointed at the Dodge Charger parked at the entrance to the park. "To the Batmobile!" He flashed a grin. "_What_?"

Colby stared at him blankly for a few seconds and blinked. "You guys are fuckin' _weird_, you know that?"

The two men set off at a flat run towards the Dodge. Nothing on earth would stop Colby getting to that dam…

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Don leaned back against the elevator hand rail and closed his eyes. Here in the elevator he had the first fleeting seconds of peace he'd had in days. His eyes suddenly snapped open and he hit the emergency stop button. He needed more than the few brief seconds it took to travel down to the fifth floor and the chaos of the Bullpen. He paced the floor, rubbing his hand across his face. But just a minute later, a voice crackled over the intercom. "_Agent Eppes? Is everything okay?"_

Don looked up at the camera. "Huh? Oh, yeah, fine, fine. Sorry man, hit the wrong button."

_"Not a problem, Agent."_

"Sorry. Sorry." Don muttered a half-hearted apology, held his hand up to the camera and sighed. Even here he wasn't alone…

He pressed the start button and carried on down to the fifth floor. The doors pinged open and a wall of noise hit him. Phones rang urgently in the background. Every agent was working flat out to find out who had killed their friends and colleagues.

Don went to the middle of the room and stuck two fingers in his mouth. He let out a sharp, shrill whistle and every agent in the room stopped dead, instantly turning to their boss. "LISTEN UP! I WANT EVERYTHING WE HAVE ON ALL MUSLIM FAITH SCHOOLS WITHIN THE LA COUNTY AREA! WE'RE LOOKING AT A PRIMARY BOMB TARGET. IT'S A BOMB WE GOTTA STOP, PEOPLE!" He clapped his hands sharply. "GO TO IT. FULL BRIEFING IN TEN." The wall of noise started up again instantly. Every agent renewed their focus on getting the information as quickly as possible…

Don beckoned to David and Nikki. The two agents instantly dropped their files on the desks and walked quickly towards Don, following him into the war room. David shut the door, closing out the chaos in the Pen.

Don leaned his fists on the table set in front of the huge plasma screen and stared down at the desk's surface. He glanced up. "Colby's okay. He's gone after Diane. Burkess thought he was talking to a dead man and was dumb enough to tell Colby everything. Problem for Burkess is that Colby's still very much alive and Burkess is now on his way to supermax." Don pushed himself off the table and began to pace. "He told Col that hit number three was gonna be a Muslim faith school. White supremacists supposedly retaliating against the Muslim community for this morning's carnage downstairs. We have two hours to find out which school and stop it."

David couldn't help letting out a quiet sigh of relief as he heard the words 'Colby's okay'. But the rest of the machine-gun fast briefing left him rattled. "That would bring the mother of all shitstorms down on us, Don. With public opinion the way it is at the moment…"

"Exactly. Burkess has been playing fundamentalist chess, bud."

"I suck at chess, Don."

"Think about it, David. If a white supremacist hits a Muslim school straight after a Muslim suicide bomber has hit the FBI…"

"…It would spark an inter-racial riot and give Al Q'eda justification for more attacks! It would escalate the war on terror and bring it right onto our doorstep! Nikki interrupted and then glanced apologetically at Don. He didn't rebuke her for interrupting. She was learning that Don ran his team on an equal basis. Yes, he was in charge, but he valued every single team member's contribution, including, it seemed, the 'new guy'.

David dropped in. "Obama's already losing points in the popularity contest polls, Don, and with the Primaries coming up in November…"

"…It could be just enough to tip the balance of power straight into the hands of politicians in Burkess' pocket." Don finished David's sentence for him.

So what, all this was for just one guy who wanted to be some kinda twisted_ kingmaker_?" Nikki sounded astonished.

David turned to her and smiled. "Welcome to our world, Nikki. We do this on a regular basis. Ya know. Protecting the country. It's kinda what we do."

"Yeah. Makes a real change from bustin' gang bangers for five dollar crack bags!" Nikki smirked briefly. She suddenly felt like a real part of the team…

"Burkess is way worse than some crack seller, Nikki." Don scowled angrily.

"So how do we narrow down which school, Don? We gotta call this right first time. We don't have enough time to call it wrong." David frowned.

"I can help with that." Charlie Eppes appeared at the doorway, laptop already open.

Don smiled briefly at his younger brother. "Hey Charlie, thanks for coming in so quick."

"You need to call Dad. He's worried about you."

"Charlie, I don't have time to do that right now. I need to find this school before a lot more people die."

"We have a list of all Muslim faith schools in LA yet?"

"Yeah, we're getting that now."

"Okay, so I can apply an algorithm that will identify the most likely targets. Do we know who's planning to attack the school?"

"A white supremacist group called the Free America Front."

"Right, so we can examine their past history, cross reference that with locations, points of interest, proximity to potential targets and so on and see if there's any patterns that will help us determine how they select their targets and what are the most likely factors they take into consideration when choosing how to…"

"Charlie, how long? We've got less than two hours."

"An hour. Tops."

"Go to it."

Charlie nodded at his brother and scuttled off to find a quiet room in which to work. Don turned to Nikki. "The second you have that list, get it to Charlie."

"On it." Nikki trotted out of the room, her curls bouncing wildly across her shoulders.

For a moment, the two men were left alone. Don looked at David and sighed. "Jesus, David…"

"Don, you know we're gonna stop this."

"I know."

"You have to believe we're gonna stop this, Don. Everyone out in that office is looking to you to lead them, bud."

Don let out a short laugh. "No pressure then…"

"No, brother. No pressure." David's voice was kind and reassuring. "Don, we've done this before. We're always working against the clock. This is no different. We_ will_ stop this."

"There's far more at stake here than just the school, David. I mean, that's bad enough, but…"

"Don, I know what's at stake. Believe me." He laid a gentle hand on his friend's shoulder. "This might have been one of the Bureau's worst days, but it could still be our finest hour, bud." He patted Don and turned, quietly walking out without another word.

Don stood alone in the war room. The few brief moments of peace he'd had in the elevator flooded back to him. David was right.

He had the best damn team in the Bureau.

They _would_ stop this…

3333333333

Colby gunned the Dodge Charger through the rapidly filling streets of LA. They were starting to hit traffic and this particular Charger didn't have the benefit of flashing blue and red lights fitted to it. He weaved through the beginnings of the morning rush hour at a terrifying speed.

In the passenger seat, Doug held on for dear life. "Now I know who the bloody hell taught Marcus to drive!" Doug's eyes widened as the front of a massive truck trundled into their path. "TRUCK!_ TRUCK!_" Colby hauled on the steering wheel and the front end of the Charger swerved violently around the nose of the eighteen-wheel semi. The loud honk of an irate airhorn yelled the driver's annoyance as Colby slid the rear end of the protesting Charger back into line with the front and powered away. Doug sat back in the passenger seat and puffed his cheeks out in shock. "Fuck me_ sideways_, Granger!"

Colby's eyes didn't leave the road but he grinned briefly. "I was expecting more of a 'good lord, old chap!' there, Dougie, not that kinda rich profanity commin' outta the mouth of a British Army officer!"

"Nope, I definitely think that last manoeuvre of yours fully warranted a fuck me sideways there,_ old chap_!"

Colby merely grinned again, slammed his foot hard down on the brake and then the gas, hauled on the handbrake and swung the truck around a perfect ninety degrees into a side street. "Shortcut!"

"Really? To where? Hell?" Doug gripped the handle on the roof of the cab, his knuckles white with tension.

"Time!"

Doug glanced at his watch. "Eleven minutes."

"SHIT!" The Dodge leapt forward again, tyres screaming in protest as Colby took another corner at breakneck speed. The truck slid across two lanes sideways and shot forward, leaving a trail of blazing horns and screeching tyres in its wake as cars desperately tried to avoid colliding with the barrelling truck. "We're nearly there…"

The black SUV suddenly swerved to the left as Colby spotted the entrance to the parking area by the dam. He ignored the chain link gates that stood padlocked in front of him and smashed through them, sending them jangling and slamming back violently against the fence. The Dodge skidded for yards on the loose surface and finally shuddered to a stop just yards from the edge of the conduit.

Before the engine had stopped, Colby was out of the driver's door and sprinting towards the steps that led down into the conduit. He could see the arched pillars of the dam in front of him and raced towards them. Doug was just a few brief steps behind him, his boots pounding on the concrete.

"DEE!" Colby screamed out her name as he ran full tilt towards the dam. "_DEE!"_ He reached the arches and started looking frantically, constantly calling out her name. "_DEE! BABY! TALK TO ME! DEE!_"

Doug ran to the other end of the dam and started checking every alcove under the arches. The dank, dark stone smelled of moss and he could hear the churning water held back just behind the dam's sluice gates. They had just a few minutes to find Diane and get the hell out of there…

Suddenly, Doug heard a groan. "COLBY! TO ME!" He dived into the alcove, his eyes quickly adjusting to the darkness. Doug heard the pounding of boots behind him and Colby skidded into the alcove.

Handcuffed to a pipe slumped a bedraggled figure, short red hair plastered to her head. Diane was barely conscious. "DEE!" Colby dropped down to his knees and gently lifted her lolling head up. "Baby? Can you hear me?" Her eyes were closed and she looked close to unconsciousness. Colby glanced up at the cuffs. "_Shit!_"

"We got two minutes, Col…"

"FUCK!" Colby pulled out his A1 and put the muzzle close to the chain connecting the two handcuffs. He carefully covered Diane's head with his other hand and turned his head away. "FIRE IN THE HOLE!" Doug ducked out of the way of any possible ricochet. The A1 cracked and the alcove briefly flared orange from the flash of the muzzle. The chain holding the two cuffs together shattered. Colby instantly holstered his gun and lifted Diane onto his shoulder. He stood up and yelled at Doug. "_GO, GO, GO!"_

The two men sprinted away from the dam, Colby slower this time because of the weight of the unconscious Diane across his shoulders. But he still managed to almost keep pace with Doug.

They were just a few metres away from the safety of the steps when the alarm sounded...

Colby knew what that alarm meant. It meant that any second now thousands of gallons of water would come roaring through the opened sluice gates, slam into them like a wall and wash them all away…

Doug was already half way up the steps. He leapt up to the top and instantly turned, holding his hands down. Colby hoisted the limp figure of Diane up towards Doug's waiting arms with a roar of effort. The Englishman grabbed her and hauled her up the steps. Colby glanced back briefly at the damn and saw the first boiling, churning mass of water crash through the alcoves. He grabbed hold of the steps and started to climb frantically, desperately trying to block the horrible sensation of déjà vu running through his mind…

"COLBY!" Doug's hand reached down and grabbed the American's wrist just as Colby felt the first wave of water slam into him…

_**TBC…**_


	28. Pray to be lucky

Disclaimer:

_Really_? AGAIN? *sigh* Oh, al-_right _then…

*In singsong, 'I'm just phoning this in' voice* I have nothing to do with Numb3rs, nor do I own the rights on any of the regular characters. I do, however, own the story, the Brits and that chocolate chip muffin I've been saving for my tea, so get yer _mits off it_, you greedy buggers!

Usual warning applies for violence, strong language and some serious Don!Angst at the end. I'd also like to dedicate this chapter to all my friends over at the now sadly defunct Numb3rs dot org board – we had a great time, guys!

Roll credits and wonky Numb3rs board…

3333333333333333

Doug braced himself against the creaking iron railing of the steps and held on for dear life. _Colby's _life…

Every sinew in Colby's right wrist felt like it was being stretched like a rubber band. Doug's grip was like a vice around his wrist and he could feel the bones grinding together beneath the skin. As the water pounded against him dragging his body sideways, Colby bellowed with effort and his wet left hand scrabbled for purchase on the slick steps. He could feel his fingers slipping every time he tried to grab the rail, the rough surface of the iron tearing at the delicate skin on his fingertips and ripping his nails down to the quick.

Suddenly, he felt a smaller hand lock around his left wrist and in a moment of clarity he glanced up into two bloodshot, emerald green eyes. Diane looked back at him, utter panic on her face but her teeth gritted in grim determination as she shifted her body to get a second hand around his wrist. In that split second, nothing else existed for Colby. He could see the terror in her eyes, the utter commitment _not _to let go, no matter what. He also remembered the promise he'd made to her in the bullet-riddled remains of his apartment earlier. He couldn't break that promise now…

Under the water, Colby tried to focus every ounce of strength he had left into forcing his legs to move against the rush of the water and to try and get a foot on one of the rungs. If he could just get one foothold, _just one_…

The water was too strong.

Thousands of gallons of pounding liquid hammered against him. The force too much to fight against. Colby could feel the energy draining out of him, washed away in the torrent that battered and repeatedly slammed his increasingly bruised body against the side of the channel. The concrete walls were unforgiving and he felt a rib give way in his chest, a sharp stab of sickening pain sapping him further.

His vision started to tunnel.

He could still feel the hands of his friend and Diane clamped around him, but the battering he was taking from the relentless water and the jagged surface of the concrete was beginning to defeat him. Another wave slammed into him and he felt himself hurled against the concrete side again. The force of the blow snapped his head to one side and his temple connected with the edge of the iron steps. He tasted the sharp tang of bile in his mouth and his eyes rolled back as the water finally won and Colby lost consciousness…

33333333

"Doug…" Diane's voice was sharp with panic.

"He's okay. He's okay, Dee." Doug tried to make his voice as reassuring as possible, but it was difficult to control his own sense of concern in the tone. Every muscle in his body hurt from the effort of pulling the unconscious American from the now relatively calm water. For what had felted like hours they had held on to Colby, refusing to let the water wash the man away, their efforts bolstered through nothing but sheer determination. He and Diane had finally been able to make one, last, huge effort and had dragged Colby free of a watery grave.

Colby's limp body had been unceremoniously dragged up the steps and laid carefully on the ground and the two English soldiers paused for a moment, utterly spent.

Diane dropped back, exhausted by the effort, her tears mingling with the water that trickled across her face from her soaked hair. Doug sat back on his haunches, his hands resting on his thighs and his chest heaving from the effort. He had been worried that the last pull had dislocated Colby's shoulder. He leaned forward, quickly checking the socket. Thankfully, the bones were exactly where they were supposed to be. He let out a sigh of relief and moved his fingers to Colby's neck, checking for a pulse and making sure that the man was still breathing. The pulse was there, but it was weak and irregular. "Jesus, this Yank's a tough bastard!" He carefully put Colby's head to one side, checking his airway was clear and quickly looking him over for any primary injuries that could be life threatening. He saw none, although the blood pouring from the vicious gash on Colby's left temple was a concern. "Guv, I need a medikit." He glanced over at Diane. She was flat on her back, her left arm flung over her eyes and her chest heaving as she fought for breath. "Guv…"

Diane dragged her own battered body back up into a sitting position, swaying as she steadied herself carefully with one hand on the cold concrete surface. Every movement was an effort, every part of her screamed to just collapse back into the comfort of unconsciousness. But right now, Colby needed her. She let out a grunt of pain as she shifted into a kneeling position, fighting to get her breath back as the effort taxed her further. Doug watched her, scowling in concern. He had two badly wounded soldiers on his hands right now. But the rule was always look after the one that _isn't _making any sound. That meant Colby was the priority.

Diane looked up at Doug, a grim expression of determination on her face. "Truck?" Her voice was harsh and broken, and Doug could see that she was close to collapsing again herself. But she was already struggling to her feet, and he nodded towards the black SUV parked a few feet away.

"Under the passenger seat. Should be a basic first aid kit there. That'll do."

"On it." Diane made the few steps to the truck on shaking legs that threatened to collapse under her at any second, and wrenched open the rear passenger door. She reached under the seat and her fingers closed around a hard, plastic case. She pulled the box out from under the seat and staggered back to Doug. She dropped to her knees and handed the box to Doug, concentrating on getting her breath back again, her eyes never leaving the unconscious form of Colby.

Doug snapped open the box and immediately started rummaging around in the kit for a pad to clean the head wound up. As he worked, he noticed Diane reach into the box and pull out a syringe already filled with a clear liquid. She pulled off the cap that covered the tip of the needle with her teeth and ripped the ragged jacket sleeve that clung to Colby's left arm in two. Spitting out the plastic cap to one side, she straightened his arm out, looking for a vein. Diane jabbed the needle into his arm and pushed down the plunger. The adrenaline shot squirted into his vein and started hurtling around his body, kick-starting him and dragging him relentlessly out of the comfortable, peaceful quiet of unconsciousness and back into ragged, pain-filled reality.

Colby slowly opened his eyes and desperately tried to focus on the blob that filled his vision. As the clarity returned, he saw the features of the blonde Englishman leaning anxiously over him. Two bright blue eyes, starkly contrasted by the mud that smeared Doug's skin, stared back at him, filled with concern. "Col? Hey, mate, easy…take it slow old son, take it slow…" Doug's voice was soft and gentle. He didn't need Colby making any sudden movements right now. He still had no idea if Colby had suffered any serious internal injuries and that head wound was a nasty one. "Stay still, mate, stay still. You're okay, Col. We got ya."

Immediately, Colby felt the back of his head being cradled by another hand and Doug moved to one side to allow Diane some room. Colby groaned loudly and suddenly spasmed, coughing violently. Diane quickly turned his head to one side and let him spit out the water that had flooded into his lungs. The water spewed out of his mouth and he retched again, spitting the last drops from his mouth and rolling back into the comforting arms of Diane. "Easy, baby, _easy_…" Diane's voice was a harsh whisper.

Colby could hear Diane's own pain in her voice and his right arm reached up towards her, the blood trickling down his arm from torn skin and battered knuckles. He wound his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, their cheeks resting together for a brief second. "I'm okay, baby. I'm still here. I'm still here…" He stroked her sodden hair gently. Diane clung to him, holding him as gently as a mother holds a child.

Doug let them have their moment together and stood up, pulling out a cell-phone and hitting a speed-dial number. "Micky? It's Doug. We've got the guv. They're both pretty bashed up so I'm getting these two evac'd to a hospital straight away."

"_What the hell happened?"_

"Long story. Involves a lot of water. Southgate damn go _goosh_, much excitement. But they're alive, Mick. I'll take care of 'em."

"_Understood. Call me from the hospital."_

"Copy that." Doug ended the call and immediately put in another one. "Agent Sinclair? It's Doug Cross. SAS. I'm with Colby and Diane. I need an ambulance at the Southgate damn _right now_…"

333333333

David snapped the phone shut and glanced over at Don. "They're…um, they're okay." He didn't want to think what kind of a state his friend and the Englishwoman were in if they needed an ambulance. But working with Colby for the past few years had taught him how these Special Forces boys think. Keep your focus. Don't let emotions get in the way of the job. And their job right now wasn't worrying about Colby, it was stopping some lunatic with a bomb from killing innocent students and preventing an all-out war starting right in their own back yard.

"Thank god for that. Right. Micky Cox should be with us in…" Don glanced at his watch.

"Um…_about now_?" The powerful frame of Micky Cox filled the doorway and he flashed the agents a brief grin. Don looked up and returned the grin.

"Right on time, buddy."

"What we got then?" Micky strolled into the war room and paused long enough to wink cheekily at Nikki. Behind him walked Marcus Bowen, a dark and brooding cast in his deep brown eyes. The handover had gone without a hitch, and Walter Burkess was now on his way to The Farm for a very forceful debriefing.

"Charlie's running the numbers. We've only got a few locations to focus in on. Agents are on their way to all of them right now. The trouble is, we don't know who we're looking for. Or where."

"How long?" Micky spoke in short, sharp sentences. Don recognised that 'business mode' approach that all the Brits seemed to be able to switch into with ease. He knew that behind the normally jovial, laid back persona, Micky's razor-sharp mind was already calculating a variety of scenarios. Again he couldn't help noticing the similarity in how the Brits worked and Colby's approach to his job. Efficient. Almost clinical. And utterly ruthless…

"Just under an hour."

"I've got it!" Charlie appeared at the door holding a map aloft. "According to the data Nikki gave me on locations and going on the past patterns of the known white supremacist groups that may have a part in Burkess' agenda, I've calculated that, by looking at the social networking dynamics…"

"Charlie, we're on the meter here, bud…" Don interrupted his brother, frowning deeply.

"Sorry. Yeah, um, it's the Center for Muslim Studies. Cal Sci."

"You're sure?"

"Yes. Well, ninety eight point seven percent sure, yeah."

"Nikki, roll SWAT and then liase with anti terrorism and bring them up to speed. Make sure they're covering any other possible targets in case Charlie's wrong..."

"Hey! Standing _right here_, Don..."

Don ignored his brother's indignant protestation. "Micky, you and your friend are with me and David. You guy's armed?"

Micky carefully moved the side of his jacket back with a finger and smiled nastily. On his belt sat a holster in which a Browning 9mm nestled comfortably. "Always." He let the jacket fall back. Behind him, Marcus mirrored his action revealing his own holstered automatic.

Don nodded. "Then let's move. Charlie, you stay here, bud."

"Don, we have to warn them. Let me call Millie and…"

"No. We need to be in situ. We give them a head's up and if our bomber's already on site it could force him to move before we're in position." Don held his hand up to stop his brother's protests. "Chuck, please. Trust me. I know what I'm doing."

Charlie nodded, his brown curls bobbing, but Don could still see the angry set of his brother's jaw. He patted his younger sibling gently on the shoulder as they moved out of the room, trying to reassure him. He knew how badly Charlie took things when they infringed upon what he saw as the safe environment of the university. Again, that sharp pang of regret punched Don in the stomach. Their two worlds kept on colliding, and he hated that his younger brother had to be exposed to such a violent antithesis to his own, sedate and _safe _academia.

Charlie watched them all leave, feeling alone and isolated. He wanted to do more. He wanted to be able to ride with Don and be the one who was at his side when the FBI stopped this atrocity from happening. It was _his _world. _His _university. _He _wanted to be the one that protected it…

33333333

The campus was still relatively quiet at this early hour. A few people moved around the peaceful, serene paths between the campus buildings, but along the tree-lined walkway the only sound was the distant hum of the LA rush hour and a few birds singing quietly in the morning sunshine.

Jason Nixon didn't fit in with these hallowed surroundings. His shaved head and menacing stare spoke of a fanatic, not a student. Even his nondescript outfit of jeans, army surplus jacket and heavy boots didn't fit in with the normal student look. The rucksack on his back wasn't heavy, but its contents were armed and primed. Putting the bomb together had been a rush job, and it was the first one that he had ever made. He hoped desperately that he'd got it right. He didn't want to be the one who let the Cause down… Nixon looked around furtively and suddenly changed direction, taking a shortcut between two buildings and heading towards the Center for Muslim Studies.

In the shadows of a building, a pair of eyes watched him trot quickly towards the Center. Tim King frowned and he and two of his SWAT team followed the man with their Heckler & Koch MP5 machine pistols, the noses of the barrels almost seeming to sniff the morning air looking for prey. Tim King growled quietly into his comms. "_SOG Charlie. Possible target acquired."_

Don scanned the monitors in the van, looking for the figure Charlie team had identified. "SOG Charlie, location?"

"_Walkway north of the main entrance. He's heading for the centre. We have a clear shot. Repeat, we have a clear shot."_

"Do not take. Repeat, do _not _take. We don't know for sure if he is our target and I'm not having some innocent student gunned down for no reason. If he is our bomber, then I want him alive, Tim."

Tim King's reply was tinged with frustration. _"Alive? Why? The guy's about to blow the shit out of a building, Eppes…"_

"We _don't know _he's the bomber! I _said_ do NOT take the shot, Tim! Monitor only. Get your men in position and wait for my signal." Don scowled angrily and glanced at the other occupants of the van. "Move."

Without a word, David, Micky Cox and Marcus Bowen quickly unholstered their guns and moved out of the command vehicle. Spreading out in formation, the four-man team moved quickly across the grass and towards the Center, making no sound as their feet fell softly on the spring grass. Don flattened himself against a wall and peered carefully towards the Center. He could make out a bald headed man dressed in an army BDU jacket and jeans making his way towards the doors. The man had a rucksack on his back. Every nerve, every gut instinct in him screamed in unison. This _was _their target. This _was_ the man who was prepared to start a war without even knowing who he was acting on behalf of. His own, deluded ideals had made him the perfect candidate for a suicide mission, yet there was still a good chance that this mere foot soldier for Burkess' twisted plan had no idea what the consequences of his actions would be. Then again, the guy could be perfectly innocent. Was it worth the risk? Perhaps he should've let Tim take the shot after all…

Don glanced over at David, who was flattened against another wall on the opposite side of the path. Don motioned towards the building and David nodded in return. David had also seen Nixon and had come to exactly the same conclusion in those brief seconds as his boss. The Brits were nowhere to be seen, but Don suspected that the two soldiers had already entered the building from the opposite side. He motioned to David and the two men broke cover, running silently towards the Center's main entrance. Without waiting to be told, Tim King and his SWAT team fell into position behind the lead agents, their MP5's held steady and level at shoulder-height. They trotted silently up the steps and paused, taking crouched positions either side of the double, glass-fronted doors. Don held up a fist and carefully peered through the glass into the hallway. The target was inside the building, paused at a water fountain.

Nixon bent down over the drinking fountain. His mouth was dry and his heart was pounding in his chest. Shaking fingers pressed the chrome lever and an arch of water spurted up out of the fountain. He let the icy-cold water trickle against his lips for a second and then opened his mouth to swallow a mouthful…

"_FREEZE! FBI_! KEEP YOUR HANDS WHERE I CAN SEE THEM! SHOW ME YOUR HANDS! HANDS! _NOW_!" Don's yelled words were echoed by David and Tim King, all shouting and screaming at him in unison to stand still. He glanced up, the fountain of water still splashing into the bowl. Nixon slowly smiled and let go of the lever. The water stopped and he stood up slowly, a fixed snarl on his face.

"A-a-a, boys! Don't get too hasty or we all go to fuckin' _hell together_!" His right hand appeared slowly, a detonator held in his curled fingers. The entire team froze as they saw his finger hovering over a small red button. Nixon laughed hoarsely. "Ready to make your peace with God, Feds? Huh? _CAUSE I AM!" _

"No you're not, my friend. Wanna know why?" Don held up his hand. Keep him talking. Do anything, stall him but _stop him pressing that button!_ "Because this isn't your idea, is it?"

"This has been my idea from the start, pig! What the fuck would you know?"

"I know you've been getting your orders from someone much further up the food chain than you, buddy. I know that for a _fact_. And I also know that you don't wanna die today, right?"

David glanced fleetingly at his boss. He'd watched Don play poker with bombers before. David silently prayed to any god that may be listening that the bomber would fold before he had a chance to blow them all to pieces…

"You know _nothing_!" Nixon snarled the words out. "You know _nothing _about _real_ people's struggle to survive, pig! You know _nothing _about what these people are trying to poison our society with! Their laws? Their religion? Their _ways_? Chipping away every day at our country? Our freedom? Our liberty? They're unAmerican, buddy, and that's something the entire world is gonna know about in a few minutes, _including you and your fuck friends, pig_!"

"WALTER BURKESS!" Don was desperate. The man was demented, fixating on a group of innocent people purely on the grounds of religion. It sickened Don to his stomach, but right now wasn't the time or place to have a theological debate with a madman holding a detonator. The only thing he could do now was to _stop _the man pressing that button. Throw a name out. Watch the reaction. Use anything. _Anything_…

Nixon paused and scowled angrily at Don. "What?"

"Walter Burkess. He's the guy who gave the order for this. You don't know him, buddy, but he's the reason you're here right now. You're not fighting for your cause, bud, you're fighting for _his_! And you wanna talk unAmerican? This guy wants to tear this country _apart_, pal! Is that what _you _want? Huh?" Don swallowed. The man was listening to him, but his finger still hovered over the button. Keep him talking. Keep him listening… "We have him under arrest, my friend. We have him, and everyone else involved in this. And now we have you. I'm tellin' ya buddy, there's only two ways outta here. One's in a body bag, because the only thing that's keeping you alive right now is me being here. I swear to you, there's snipers ready to blow your head off before you even get _near _that button. And then what? Huh? Then what? All of this will have been for nothing. You'll just be another report on my desk. This isn't _worth your life_, bud. It isn't worth _anyone's _life!" Nixon's hand trembled. Don spotted it instantly. He was getting through… "There is another way, bud. There's another way you can get out of this. Just...put the detonator _down_. Put it down and we all live another day. Because I _know, _bud, _I know _you do not want to die, do you? Ask yourself. Do you?"

Again, there was a faint tremor in the man's hand. He glanced around at the forest of guns pointing at him. He still held them all at bay thanks to a simple little red button. A lifetime in prison stretched ahead of him. He'd sworn he'd never go back after the last time. He might have been a devoted member of a violent, vicious gang of white supremacists, but the prison he'd been incarcerated in had been run by _black _gangs. They'd made his life hell. He'd suffered, oh how he'd suffered! His limited intelligence couldn't comprehend that what he did right now would only lead to the deaths of more innocent people in a protracted and bloody war between two fanatical sides, both bent on destroying the other. But going back to a prison cell meant a slow, lingering death that would probably take _years_, isolated from his friends, surrounded by his enemies. And nothing, _nothing _would ever make him go back to that…

Nixon snarled, the snarl building into a roar of fury and he raised his hand up, the detonator shining brightly in the morning sunshine. His head turned towards the small metal box in his hand and his finger pressed down on the button…

The entire team instantly and desperately dived for any cover they could find, expecting the next second to be filled with the roaring of the blast and then the black nothing of death. They were all within the blast radius of the pack. If it went off, none of them would survive, they knew that.

There was utter silence. Nixon frowned and looked at the box still held in his hand. He pressed the detonator again. Nothing. He looked up towards where the FBI agents had been standing, utter confusion on his face. "What the fu…"

The sharp snap of a 9mm double tap sounded and Nixon jerked as the bullets slammed into his back. He looked startled and glanced down, noticing a dark stain spreading slowly over his left breast. The man frowned at it briefly and then looked up again. Don was slowly and carefully standing up, his gun straight out in his hand. He locked eyes with Nixon and saw the life draining out of the man's crazed eyes. Nixon dropped to his knees, the detonator clattering from his limp fingers and skidding across the polished floor. Without another sound, Nixon toppled face forward and lay still.

Don looked past the dead man and straight into the piercing blue eyes of Micky Cox. The Browning 9mm was still held out, a wisp of blue smoke curling from its barrel.

The Englishman slowly lowered his gun and puffed out his cheeks. "Fuck me, that was close!" He glared at the prone body of Nixon and the look of relief twisted into one of contempt. "You fuckin' _amateur!_ That's what happens when you buy a detonator off fuckin' _eBay_, you wanker!"

Don let a slow smile spread across his face. The gods protecting the hallways of academia had smiled upon them this morning. The man's detonator had failed. But then realisation kicked back in. There was still the possibility of a delayed detonation. "EVERYONE OUT! David, get the bomb squad in here right NOW!"

The men pulled out, leaving the body of Nixon lying in a pool of slowly spreading blood. The thick red liquid spilled across the marble tiles, staining the white surface and running into the grouting between the slabs. Don threw one last glance towards the body and turned, evacuating the building. As he and David trotted down the steps, the bomb squad trotted in, ready to make safe the still-primed pack on Nixon's back.

Outside the Center, emergency vehicles screamed towards the campus, shattering the peace and tranquillity of the university. Don pushed his gun back into his holster and sighed deeply. He walked slowly over towards the command vehicle, ripping open the Velcro straps on his vest. He felt a hand lay on his shoulder and turned. David smiled quietly at him. "We were lucky today, Don."

"Yeah, no shit!" Don sighed again and rubbed his hand over his face. He felt utterly drained. He felt David's fingers flex on his shoulder and returned the sentiment, patting his friend and partner on the back. "We did good, bud."

"You did _shit_, Eppes!" Tim King's furious voice cut through the din of yelling sirens and shouting agents. He strode angrily towards Don and stopped only inches from him. His dark eyes burned with a passion and he stabbed a finger at Don. "Your Brit friend was right, pal! That dickhead was a fuckin' amateur and that's the _only _thing that saved us from being blown to _pieces _in there! Next time, bud, _next fucking time_, I don't give a crap if you are the SAC, I'm _takin' the fuckin' shot_!" King glared once more at Don and spun around, barking orders at his SWAT team and moving away.

David glared after the man and then back at his boss. "He's right, Don. It's only thanks to some serious luck that we're alive now. But hey. Sometimes, you just gotta pray to be lucky, right?" David patted Don's shoulder one last time and walked away back towards the two British soldiers.

Don watched his friend walking away. David was right. He'd called it wrong. So damn wrong, he'd nearly got an entire squad killed. He'd wanted to talk the guy down. He didn't want anyone else dying. But sometimes, people don't listen to reason. It was a hard lesson for Don to learn and one that shook his confidence in his ability to lead to his very core. He sank down slowly, crouching against the hard surface of the Dodge. His head dropped onto his chest and he closed his eyes, shutting out all the chaos for a second, trying to find that still place – that quiet place where he could try and make peace with the decision he'd made. Fifteen years. He'd been doing this job for fifteen years. Was it fifteen years too long?

David walked over to the two Brits. "You okay guys?"

"Never better." Micky Cox flashed a brief grin that instantly melted away into a serious look. "Yer boss alright there, Sinclair?"

David glanced back at the slumped, beaten figure of Don. A knot twisted in his stomach and he turned back to the Englishman. "He'll be okay." Inside, David fervently hoped his reply was an accurate one. _Would_ Don be okay?

"We got lucky today, David." Micky's voice was quiet and level. It was clear from the way the man spoke that he probably agreed with Tim King's assessment of Don's decision, but he also understood Don's reasoning. They hadn't been sure that the man was a terrorist. He could have been an innocent student. But it had been a difficult call to make and it was one that David knew would haunt Don for a long time to come. It was the Crystal Hoyle case all over again…David nodded. He couldn't bring himself to criticise Don openly, but he too was questioning his boss's decision.

"Yeah."

Micky sniffed sharply. "Right then. Suppose I better go and see what bleedin' state Granger and the Guv are in. Coming Marcus?"

"Is there a caff in the hospital, Coxy? 'Cause I'm bloody starving." Marcus grinned briefly at his friend.

"Stale doughnuts and crappy coffee it is then. I'll call you from the hospital, David. Don't worry, we're all alive, we're all okay and…" Micky paused and glanced over at Don. "I think right now, your place is next to your boss, don't you? I'll look after Col. Okay?" He gave David a friendly pat on the arm and turned away without another word. David watched the two Englishmen disappear around a corner and turned back to look at Don. That knot in his stomach tightened.

Don looked like a broken man…

**_To be concluded…_**


	29. A Dirty Business

Disclaimer:

Well, after god knows _how _long, we finally come to the end of Enigma. It's been one hell of a ride, and I sincerely hope that everyone who has read this _monster _of a story (seriously. The next one's gonna be shorter. That's a promise. Probably…) has enjoyed the rollercoaster. It's been fun to write, and I really hope it's been as much fun to read. Season 4 is currently in the works, I've just got to persuade some of the regulars to stay on, sign contracts, calm the lawyers, evade the Security services who've got totally the wrong end of the stick and generally make sure they don't break up the set before we start on the next season…Hey, where are you going with that green fluted bowl?

As always, I don't own any of the regular cast from Numb3rs, but the Brits and the story are all mine. There are no warnings for violence this time, because just for once, there isn't any. Although there's a bit of Cockney slang that might confuse some who have never had the pleasure of drinking in a pub down the Mile End Road whilst watching as some poor sod tries to put their blazing hair out with a fire extinguisher...

For the last time this season, roll credits and wonky Numb3rs board…

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The hospital room was quiet except for the gentle hiss of an oxygen valve and the constant beep of a monitor. In the crisp, white sheets Colby lay absolutely still, his eyes closed. His breathing was regular and even, thanks to the cylinder that pumped much-needed oxygen via a nasal tube into his battered and bruised body.

Micky dozed quietly in the chair, managing to shift into a comfortable position with one leg dangling over the armrest. Occasionally his eyes would flicker open and he checked on his friend, making sure Colby was still sleeping peacefully. They'd shot him full of enough sedative to drop a rhino, but as the doctor had commented, "He's a big guy. And I don't want him coming around for a while, not until we're sure he's stable and that head wound isn't going to cause us or him any problems." Micky had relented, after commenting about the thickness of Granger's skull and how a bang on the noggin would probably knock a bit of sense into the big American. He knew how much his friend hated being sedated. It brought back too many bad memories of a darker place. But everyone agreed that the best thing Colby could do now was rest.

A quiet murmur immediately caused Micky's eyes to snap open and he laid a gentle hand on his friend's shoulder. "Easy, Col. Easy…" The unconscious man moaned quietly again and was still, settling back against the pillow. Micky sat back, his eyes staying fixed on the man.

"How's he doin'?"

Micky looked up sharply at a figure standing in the doorway. Don looked as exhausted as Colby, and there was a heaviness to his voice that concerned Micky. "Asleep. You look like crap."

"Good. And thanks. So do you." Don's face flickered into a brief smile. He walked silently into the room and stood over his friend's bed, looking down at Colby's bruised and bloodied face. "About time he got some rest." Don's voice was quiet, so as not to disturb Colby's sleep. Don carefully pushed a stray wisp of hair from Colby's forehead and smiled again. "He's a tough son of a bitch, isn't he?" He smiled sadly at Micky, who returned the smile with a nod.

"Yeah. But I think he deserves a bit of a time out, don't you?"

"Hell no! I expect him back at his desk eight am Monday morning!" Don grinned, but there was still that heaviness behind every word – a weariness that sapped the humour from his voice.

"You know if you said that to him, even in jest, he'd be there, right?" Micky returned the grin, but his voice was tinged with concern for his new American friend.

"I know. That's the thing about Col. Ask him to do something, _anything_, and he's there every time. Sometimes I get worn out just watchin' the guy."

"Duracell bunny, mate. Just keeps going and going and friggin' going…"

Don chuckled quietly and looked down on the sleeping man. For the first time in weeks, Colby seemed peaceful, although every so often he would moan quietly and move uncomfortably in the bed. "Look at him. Dreaming like a puppy. I keep expecting to see his leg start kicking!" Don pulled up a chair and sat next to Micky.

Micky noticed the slow, hesitant movements Don made and frowned. "Seriously Don, you okay, mate?" They were both keeping their voices quiet to avoid disturbing Colby's precious 'time out'.

"Yeah, fine, I'm fine, Micky. Thanks for askin'." Don ran a hand over his face and sighed quietly. "Just been one hell of a ride these last few weeks."

"Bollocks. You ain't just tired. Sommat's bothering you. I can tell."

"Micky, you're as bad as he is." Don jerked a thumb towards Colby. "Ya know, it's funny. I know David's my relief and all, and I trust him with my life. But Col's always been the one who manages to get me to actually talk about things. I dunno. Perhaps the guy should've been a shrink!"

"And if he was, what do you think he'd be sayin' to you right now?"

Don shook his head and sighed again. "Oh, that I should be thankful we stopped a full scale riot and the downfall of the government and that everything was good. Ya know. The usual. That we were just doing our jobs."

"So? He's right. So it ain't that." Micky's normally jovial face turned serious. "This is about telling Tim King to hold his fire, right?"

"Micky, the only reason we're alive right now is pure luck, buddy. I called it wrong. Way wrong."

"Okay, so riddle me this, Batman. When King called the visual on Nixon, were you sure he was the bomber? I mean _really _sure?"

"No, but…"

"And if you _had _given the order for King to take him out there and then and if you _had _been wrong, say for argument's sake that the dude had been just some poor, okay admittedly very terroristy-looking but still completely innocent student, what would you be saying to me right now?" Micky's intense blue eyes bored into Don, waiting for the man to answer.

Don was silent for a few moments. He fixed his stare on the sleeping form of Colby trying to figure out the answer for himself. Eventually his head dropped and he sighed. "I guess I would've been searching the classified pages right now for a new job."

"Yet surprise, surprise, here you are, still carrying a badge, still a G-man and still SAC of the best bloody team in the FBI." Micky leaned forward, his elbows resting on his thighs and an intense look on his face. "So you've answered yer own question, haven't you? Look Don, sometimes we do _get _lucky. Sometimes good old Mithras smiles on his soldiers." Don looked up at Micky, surprised by the classical reference. Micky feigned mock surprise. "What? We get a lot of down time in Hereford. Once you've read one skin mag, you've read 'em all. The Guv leant me a book on Roman military strategy once. I dunno." Micky grinned and shrugged. "Mithras kinda struck a chord with me. After all, he was the Roman god of soldiers and they _were _bleedin' good at soldiering, right?" The Englishman chuckled quietly. "Anyhoo, the point still stands. Sometimes we get lucky. Don't question it when it happens, mate. Just roll with it. It all turned out good, the only person who copped it was Nixon and we all live to fight another day. Win win as far as I can see."

"I hesitated, Micky."

"Which is why you have people like David and Colby in your team, mate. So you're human, and oh, colour me surprised, you're fallible. You make mistakes. What, you think you're the first person to make a fuck-up decision in the heat of the moment? You went on the information you actually _had_, not just King's assumption that the guy was your bomber. Personally, I think King's the one who should be feelin' shitty about this right now. He went on appearances only. The guy's ex Special Forces. He should know better. Okay he was technically _right_, but Dee taught me something a long time ago. You don't just go on appearances. Or instinct. Well, okay sometimes _she _does, but _usually_ you don't move without knowing what you're moving towards. You don't go in blind, all guns blazing and _hope _yer shooting the right bloke. You wait until you've got _all _the intel before you make a decision. Which is precisely what you did."

"I guess." Don's gaze wandered back to Colby. What would Granger say about the decision he'd made? Don knew that it would probably echo Micky's assessment word for word. He'd already had a similar conversation with David. But there was still that nagging doubt in the back of his mind. Yes, they'd been _damn _lucky. Nixon had been an amateur. The bomb had failed to detonate. The report back from the bomb squad had said that there was no way it would have exploded, the man had forgotten to connect the detonator properly. But they weren't to know that at the time. Next time, they might not be so lucky…

Micky stood up and stretched lazily. "Listen, my arse is numb from sitting on this bleedin' chair for five hours. I'm gonna go and see if I can get a decent cuppa rosy in this gaff. You want?"

"Micky, I have no idea what you just said there, but no, I'm good, thanks." Don smiled sadly at the Englishman.

"I was askin' if you wanted a cuppa tea but hey, no biggy." Micky grinned and patted Don on the shoulder. "Keep buggerlugs company for a while would ya? I'll check in on Dee and make sure she's still secured firmly to a hospital bed and isn't giving Doug or the nurses a hard time." Micky glanced down at the sleeping Colby and his voice dropped so as not to disturb his friend. "If he wakes up, give him a bit of reassurance, mate. He's had a royally shitty time of it the last couple of weeks. Ya know?" Micky's voice was soft and full of concern for the injured Colby.

Don nodded. "Don't worry, bud, I will." Micky patted Don's shoulder gently in response and walked quietly out of the room.

Don sighed again and sat back in the chair, watching the sleeping man for a few seconds. He closed his eyes and let his mind start to wander back over the events in the Center yet again…

"Mick's right, Don."

"Colby?" Don's eyes snapped open and he immediately sat forward, watching his friend intensely for any sign that the man was distressed in any way. Slowly, two green eyes flickered open and Colby gave Don one of his characteristic lopsided grins.

A broad smile spread across Don's face. "Hey big guy! Welcome back!" He laid a gentle hand on Colby's arm, taking care not to put any pressure on the bandaged wounds or the IV drip that connected Colby's arm to a stand. "How ya feelin'?"

"Oh, I've had better days. Then again, I've had worse. My head hurts like a bitch. And you look like hell, Don." Colby's voice was a quiet, hoarse whisper and each word was spoken slowly and painfully. The morphine was still making him drowsy and his eyelids drooped. Don could see it was a huge effort for the normally fighting fit man just to keep his eyes open.

Don frowned briefly at him. "How long have you been awake? Oh, and thanks. You're the second person to say that to me."

Colby chuckled quietly and winced as his rib reminded him that laughing was a bad idea. "Ow! Damn it! Sorry bud, but you do. You okay?"

"You're the one lying in a hospital bed and you're asking _me _if _I'm _okay? You're unbelievable sometimes, Colby, you really are. Besides. You haven't answered the question. How long have you been awake?"

"Long enough. You two chattering like a coupla frat girls was enough to wake the dead, buddy! So. Wanna tell me what happened?"

"Hey, c'mon man, it doesn't matter right now."

"Are you kidding me? Of course it matters!" Colby shifted and winced as his battered body protested against any form of movement. His face crinkled up into a frown of utter determination and he shifted again, trying to sit up. Don's hand pressed down a little more firmly.

"Don't you even _think_ of tryin' to move, Granger! Just lie still, for goodness sake!"

"I'm okay, Don."

"Bull."

"Man, seriously…" Don gave Colby his best, 'don't argue with me, I'm your boss' look and Colby submitted, sinking back onto the pillows. "Okay, okay. I can still listen though." Colby turned his head and looked straight at Don, his intense green eyes boring into the man. "Tell me about it. From the top."

"Col, this isn't the time…"

"This is _exactly_ the time, man. I ain't goin' anywhere right now, so you've got a captive audience. It's just you and me, bud. Nothing you say goes outside this room. So spill. You made a decision. King didn't agree with it. Big deal."

"Col, you weren't there. It coulda gone real bad."

"Coulda, woulda, shoulda, Don. You gonna base every decision you make from now on purely on what if?"

"No…"

"Okay, so waddya gettin' all bent outta shape about?" Colby shifted again and glowered at the IV drip. "Goddamn thing…"

Don sat quietly, lost in thought. He was supposed to be reassuring Colby. Instead, the injured man who had been through so much was giving _him _his usual, practical, down to earth words of comfort. Colby settled again, battling against the morphine that lulled him back towards delicious, comfortable sleep. "Don…"

"Huh?" Don's attention snapped back to his friend.

"Just wonderin'. When I'm back at my desk on Monday, you still gonna be my boss or do I have to start takin' my orders from David on a regular basis?" Colby's intense green eyes locked onto Don, waiting for an answer, but there was that familiar touch of playful mischief in the look. Mischief that had been missing for some time. Don was secretly pleased to see it back. It meant his friend was okay. The reference to being back at his desk on Monday told Don that Colby had heard most of his quiet conversation with Micky. Don chuckled and shook his head.

"No Col, I'll still be your boss. That is, I'll still _sorta _be your boss."

Colby frowned deeply. "What?"

"Bud, d'you have _any _idea how much you've just done for your country? You're up for a commendation for this, man. A _big _one. And the director's talking about giving you your own team. Specialists. Military Intelligence Tactical. You'll have the pick of the best people. It'll be part of the Violent Crimes Unit but you'll be working with other departments as well, including your old buddies at Counter Intelligence, Counter Terrorism and the Gangs unit. It's a hell of a promotion, Col."

Colby's eyes widened in disbelief. "Are you _serious_?"

"The director is, yep. Kinda like SWAT with knobs on!" Don grinned at the younger man. He could see the shock and surprise in Colby's eyes. "Don't worry, you'd still answer to me as SAC, but hey, imagine being able to give Tim King orders, wouldn't that be peachy?"

"I…um…wow, _really_?"

"Really."

"So what, we'll still be based in LA?"

"Hell yeah! And, they'll let you play with the _big_ guns!" Don chuckled. "I know how you love your ordnance, buddy. How does carrying a FMP90 as standard issue instead of an A1 hand gun suit you?"

"Cool!" Colby grinned broadly, like a child who had just been told he was getting his favourite toy for Christmas.

Don laughed again and patted his friend's arm gently. "Col, you deserve it. You really do."

Colby's grin fell away and he frowned. He looked up at his boss, a look of uncertainty on his face. "I dunno, man. I mean, me? Leading a team?"

"Hey, you were an officer in the army, right?"

"Yeah, but my paperwork sucks…"

Don laughed heartily. Colby's aversion to paperwork was legendary "That's something you're gonna have to get used to, bud. You've led teams before. Just think of this as, oh, I dunno, a unit in civilian clothing. Except when you're fully swatted up, that is. Col, seriously, man. I've never seen you happier than when you're on SWAT duty. You miss it, don't ya? The army?"

Colby was quiet for a moment and then looked at his boss. "Yeah. I do."

"Okay, so this is your chance to do it again, only this time for the FBI. You get to go home at the end of the day with Dee and catch some waves, you still get to hang out with the Violent Crimes crew _and _you get a pay rise! C'mon Col, this is a win win for you, right?"

Colby frowned. "I dunno, man. It's a big step. Mind you, the pay rise is cool." He looked up at Don. "Waddya think I should do?" The younger man's face was a picture of confusion. He looked anxiously at his boss, needing his reassurance. Colby had always looked to Don – he trusted him more than anyone else, even his best friend and partner. David may be the one who had kept Colby on the straight and narrow all these years, but in a crisis it was Don that Colby turned to every time.

Don laughed. He'd just told Colby he was getting his own team and the guy was still looking to him for the okay. Typical Colby… "Colby, I think you should take it. Like I said, you'd still be right here, damn it Col, you'd even have your old desk! But you'd be off the leash, brother. You could use _all _of your skills without having to worry about looking over your shoulder all the time at what everyone else was doin'. With the amount of ex military people getting involved in gang wars recently, and the links to terrorism, gun running, drugs, you name it, it's the logical move for the Bureau to make. Hey, it's either that or back to Washington. I hear Langley's _real _keen to have you back at the Farm. You want a desk job in DC Col, or do you want a chance to lead a team right here in LA and make a real difference, bud? 'Cause I seem to remember last time you got offered a job in Langley you turned it down." Don paused, letting this sink in.

Colby was quiet for a moment. His eyes were closed and he looked like he'd drifted off into unconsciousness again. Don frowned. "Col?"

Colby's green eyes slowly opened again and he grinned. "I hate Washington. Way too much politics."

"Funny. David said the same thing. That's why he came back to LA. So? Wanna stay here and kick a few doors in for us?"

Colby laughed quietly. "Yeah. Why not?"

Don smiled warmly. "So I can tell the director you'll take the job?"

"As long as I stay in LA, sure."

"Col, I know you're pumped up with morphine right now. You sure you know what you've just agreed to?" Don gave Colby a quizzical look filled with good-natured humour.

"I know I ain't gonna go to Washington. I'll work the rest out later, man. I…um, I might need your help and all…"

"Anything you need, bud. Anything. And I'm not gonna lose one of my best people that easy, Col. When the director talked to me about it, I made that _real _clear. That's part of the deal. I get first call on ya whenever I need some heavy artillery, okay?"

Colby gave Don a lopsided grin and nodded. "You got me on speed dial, right?"

"I got ya on speed dial, buddy."

"Cool." Colby's eyes slowly closed again and he lay quietly on the bed, letting the morphine do its work. After a few short moments, his rhythmic breathing told Don that the big man was asleep again, getting the rest and recuperation that he needed and so richly deserved.

Don settled back in the chair, smiling to himself. He had David as his right hand man. The six months David had spent leading a team in Washington had honed his skills and the man was now a superb agent. One of the very best. He was and always would be Don's rock. Nikki, despite her faults, was working out to be a damn good agent. He knew he could always rely on Liz Warner to be there when he needed her. Matt would always be his go to guy for tech support. And without his brother, Don knew that none of what they had achieved over the years would have been possible. Well, okay, maybe possible but it would have been a damn sight harder…

Now he had Colby's new team as back up. Heavy artillery, he had called them. The guys to call in when things got 'interesting', as the Brits insisted on describing things as. Terrorism didn't pay any attention to international boundaries. They were all fighting the same war, day in, day out. The director had apparently talked to MI6 in London and the SAS in Hereford with regards to Danny Smith and Doug Cross. Doug was coming up for his discharge and was already earmarked as a part of a new international team for 'special operations'. The wounded Danny Smith had asked for a transfer from London to LA as part of MI6's operations in the US. Ian Edgerton's name had been mentioned, as had Tim King's. Despite his own differences with King, Don knew that the rough ex Marine had a great deal of respect for Colby. As for Diane… well, he already considered her as part of his 'team', despite the fact that it was the CIA paying her and Micky's pay cheques every month and not the FBI. This small band of ex soldiers, spooks and spies had done more to move inter-agency co-operation forward in a few short weeks than all the politicians in Langley, Washington and London had managed in the past ten years.

Don sat back and closed his eyes. Colby's new team would be a force to be reckoned with. If everything fell into place, they'd have the best damn operation in the FBI. And he'd still be heading it up as SAC. He chuckled quietly as he imagined Colby trying to give orders to Ian Edgerton in particular, but he knew that every single member of Colby's prospective team were complete professionals who understood the chain of command.

"Buggerlug's still asleep, then?" Micky Cox stood in the doorway, a Styrofoam cup held in one hand and a half-eaten sandwich in the other. He took a bite out of the sandwich and grinned, chewing happily.

Don opened his eyes and returned the grin. "Yeah. He woke up for a while, but whatever they're pumping him full of, I could use some right about now. He's out cold."

"You told him?"

"About his new team? Yeah."

"And?"

"He's surprised, but he's said yes."

"Bloody marvellous! And about bleedin' time too!" Micky grinned broadly, took another bite out of the sandwich and slurped at the contents of the cup. He pulled a face and glared into the cup. "This ain't _tea_! This is bleedin' _dishwater_!" He glowered at Don. "I'm tellin' you right now. You lot get some decent rosy in your vending machines or I _swear _I'm going _straight _back to Washington!"

Don laughed quietly, conscious of avoiding waking the sleeping Colby. "Bud, I promise I'll raise it at the next SAC meeting. I'd hate for Colby's team to fail on the strength of, what did you call it?"

"Rosy. Rosy Lee. Tea."

"Yeah, _rosy_." Don laughed again.

Micky grinned broadly and pushed himself off the doorframe. He wandered into the room and glanced down at Colby. "So did he convince you to stay on too?"

"He kinda put it in his own, inimitable way short of calling me an asshole, but yeah. I'm not going anywhere any time soon."

"Good. We've still got a lot of bad guys out there to sort out. And Col's gonna need someone he can trust heading up operations."

Don nodded. "How's Diane?"

"Asleep. She woke up briefly but she's as knackered as Colby. She's a tough old bird but they've both been through the wars recently. She snores like a buzzsaw!" Micky finished the last of his sandwich and looked around for a bin to dump the now-empty cup in. "Doug's staying with her until his flight back to London."

"Marcus?"

"Already hitched a lift back on a transport plane stopping off at Brize Norton. He sends his regards."

"He's a good man, Micky."

"Marcus? He's a top geezer. Mad as a bag of cats, but he _is_ from Manchester, so waddya expect?" Micky let out a grunt as he finally found a bin and tossed the offending cup into trash oblivion.

"What about you?" Don looked at the Englishman.

"Well, I've gotta head back to Washington to sort a few bits and pieces out tonight, but I should be back in LA permanently in a couple of weeks."

"Nikki will be pleased to hear that." Don grinned slyly at his friend.

Micky actually blushed. "Nikki? Ah, yeah, about that. When were you lot gonna tell me she was involved with Edgerton? Last thing I want is that bugger comin' after me for nicking his girlfriend."

"Oh, I think things between Ian and Nikki are not exactly exclusive, bud!" Don laughed quietly. "She's only seen him a couple of times, so it's still open, ya know?" Don gave Micky a sly smile. "May the best man win!"

"Still, I don't fancy pissing that sneaky bastard off. Who the hell wants an irate ex boyfriend who can kill you from a mile away focusing his cross hairs on your arse?" Micky grinned. "Nah, Nikki and me are just good friends."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Oh, okay." Don didn't sound convinced, and his face lit up with amusement at the British man's discomfort. Out of courtesy, he changed the subject. "So, I hear you're gonna be transferring over to the Bureau."

"Lawrence isn't happy about it, but yeah. Keeps the old inter-agency thing going, I suppose. You know he was pushing bloody hard for Colby to go back to Washington?"

"Yeah. I know. I spoke to him at length about it. But he's a remarkably practical man, Special agent Gibbs. He knew Colby wouldn't move without Diane. Dee's not going anywhere, so neither's Colby. I guess this way Lawrence still has some say in things, especially with Col running his own team. Works out good for everyone."

"And you? You're cool with it?" Micky studied the American intensely.

"Yeah, I'm cool with it." Don settled back in the chair and looked at the sleeping form of Colby. "I'm cool with it…"

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Doug Cross sipped at the tea Micky had brought him and winced. "_Really_? They actually have the cheek to call that _tea_?" He glowered at the cup and carefully placed it on the bedside table, giving it one last glare before turning his attention back to the sleeping form of Diane Armstrong. They may have stopped Burkess and his lunatic plot to destabilise the US political system, but Lawrence Gibbs still had concerns that they hadn't mopped up everyone involved in the conspiracy. Until Gibbs was sure they had accounted for every last traitor, he still considered both Diane and Colby to be top of at least one assassin's 'to do' list. Orders were to make sure they weren't left alone for _one second_ while they were both still vulnerable.

Doug settled back in the chair and folded his arms across his chest. He'd always enjoyed working with 'the Guv' as everyone called Diane. Things were never dull around her…

His cell phone buzzed silently in his pocket and he frowned, fishing the offending object out of the recesses of his jacket and flipped it open. "Cross…"

"_How is she?" _The voice at the other end of the phone had a clipped English accent. Doug glanced at Diane and smiled.

"Snoring like a Marine, sir."

"_Granger_?"

"He's fine. Bit smacked about and I don't think he'll be going anywhere near the Southgate dam for a while, but he'll live."

"_Excellent. That's good news all round, Doug. Well done. You've served your country well, Lieutenant."_

"Thank you sir."

_"And Doug? Would you mind awfully telling my adopted daughter that I would actually quite appreciate a phone call occasionally? And to stop getting herself kidnapped by rank amateurs? Doesn't reflect well on the reputation of the Regiment, you know."_

Doug chuckled quietly. "I'll pass the message on, sir."

_"See you back here in a couple of days."_

"Will do, sir." Doug smiled quietly to himself as he broke the connection with Colonel Bridgwater in Hereford. He glanced once again at the sleeping form of Diane to make sure that the conversation hadn't woken her and concentrated back on his phone keypad.

He hit a speed dial number and pressed the phone to his ear, waiting for the recipient on the other end to pick up. "It's me. All good this end." Doug paused as he listened to the voice at the other end of the phone. "No, I'm sure. The Colonel expects me back at barracks in two days. So if you want to do it, you're gonna have to move before then." Again, a pause. "No, we have a plane standing by as arranged. Don't worry about Diane, mate, she's not going anywhere. Neither's Granger. Just get him out of the country quietly and let our people do the rest. That's the agreement, Lawrence, and unless you want Granger and a very pissed off Diane coming after you once they're out of here, I strongly suggest you stick to the plan." Doug paused and listened intently to the conversation in his ear. "Understood." He snapped the phone shut and pushed it deep into his pocket.

On the bed Diane listened silently. Her green eyes stayed closed but her brain whirred at a thousand miles an hour as she mentally started dissecting Doug's conversation with Special Agent Lawrence Gibbs…

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Lawrence Gibbs put the phone back into his pocket and looked across at the dishevelled figure sitting in front of him. Walter Burkess, shackled, handcuffed and his expensive shirt ripped and bloodied, listlessly raised his head and met Gibbs's gaze. "That was our British friends. Everything's ready." He leaned across the table, staring hard into Burkess's bruised and bloodshot eyes. "And if you know what's good for you, I really suggest you co-operate_ fully_ with them. You see, they're rather keen to talk to you about a couple of operations in the Balkans that went badly for several of our people. Including Colby Granger. Trouble is, Colby is an asset I don't want to lose, but he's also one of those rare people who still believes in truth, justice and the American way. And if he had the slightest inkling of what was going on he'd be a very, _very _angry man, Walter. I believe you've seen him angry. Is that really something you'd like to experience again?"

Gibbs sat back and studied the broken man. The interrogation had been…_forceful_. Burkess had crumbled like a mud wall in a rainstorm. He'd given them everything. Everyone. Gibbs's Enigma team was now conducting further, rather more forceful interrogations of the main protagonists, but they hadn't finished with Burkess yet.

As soon as MI6 had found out the Americans had cracked the case, they had put in an immediate request for access to Burkess. The traitor had dealings in the past with the British Intelligence services and in a real 'hands across the ocean', special relationship moment, Gibbs had agreed to turn Burkess over to them. In return, MI6 were giving them Danny Smith and the soon to be ex-SAS officer Doug Cross. Cross was two weeks from retiring from the Regiment and MI6 had already recruited him. However, the deal with the CIA suited the former soldier, as he had never fully trusted his own security service in the same way that he trusted his friends.

The Brits seemed to produce exceptional agents, and both Smith and Cross were keen to be in a situation that allowed them to operate in their own, inimitable way. Quiet deals had been done and the FBI had been persuaded to give Granger his own team consisting of Cross, Smith, Micky Cox, Diane Armstrong and a couple of their own people for good measure. The FBI hadn't taken too much persuading. They had agreed immediately, fully aware that having a specialist team of military experts, spooks and top level intelligence operatives gave them one hell of an advantage, even if they did have to swallow the bitter pill of direct CIA involvement in their affairs.

The inter-agency link was now rock-solid and having their own team right in the heart of the Los Angeles FBI office meant that the CIA now had a measure of control over what the damn FBI got up to. They were smart enough to realise that Eppes's Violent Crimes unit was one of the most effective weapons that the security services had in the war on terror. Granger's time in the unit had proved to them that on-the-ground, hand's on intel was invaluable. The FBI, realising that the game of espionage was changing and that Granger and the other proposed members of the team were far more adept at deep cover 'spookery' than their own counter intelligence unit, had agreed. It was time to take the leash off Granger, Eppes and the rest of this elite team and see what they could _really _do…

As for Burkess, well, executive orders had been signed and the plane waiting to take him back to England was fuelled up and standing by.

However, there had been compromises. The wheeling and dealing meant that Burkess would _not _now spend the rest of his miserable life in Supermax. In return for spilling his guts, he had managed to wriggle his way out of a high treason wrap. His involvement in the entire affair would be quietly filed away. The press department had already reported his passing, spinning a yarn about how he had suffered a massive heart attack at dinner and that he would be sadly missed by all. If it got out how close Burkess had come to destabilising the government and how the whole thing had not been the work of terrorists acting alone, but a covert and unsanctioned operation organised by their own security services, there would be anarchy. The press would be all over it. It _had_ to be kept quiet. So once again, the cover-up machine whirred into action.

They'd told Granger and Armstrong that Burkess had died during interrogation. Don Eppes had been fed the same story. There had even been a funeral arranged with an empty coffin, grieving mourners and senior members of the Company in attendance. Very 'photogenic'. Very 'convincing'…

Burkess' subordinates wouldn't be so lucky. Every single one of them would be incarcerated in the worst hellhole prisons Gibbs could find. The Colombians had offered to take some of them in exchange for 'looking after' a couple of their own high risk drugs barons on US soil. The continual game of shifting around your own shit onto somebody else's doorstep carried on in time-honoured espionage tradition. Backs were scratched, deals were done and problems simply disappeared, thanks to 'extraordinary rendition'.

Gibbs had the satisfaction of knowing that most of the scum that Burkess had collected around him wouldn't last a month. Orders had been given to some prison inmates who, for an easier life inside had agreed to work, albeit unknowingly, on behalf of the CIA and 'take care' of the Company's little 'problems'. The white supremacist friends of Dixon who had been part of the plan to blow up the Islamic Center at Cal Sci would find their sentences fraught with danger and a continual risk of being 'shanked'.

Espionage was a dirty business…

As for Burkess, well, his immediate future was a little brighter. His network of contacts in the Balkans, within the Russian Mafia and even connections with the Taliban was something that London wanted to utilise. The CIA couldn't be seen to be protecting a traitor like Burkess, so the British had agreed to take him into their tender, loving _care_. Gibbs knew full well what that meant. It meant that MI6 was going to squeeze every last drop of intel out of Burkess and then set him loose to do their bidding. Their grip on the man was total, utter and unrelenting. And the British were bloody good at the espionage game – they'd practically _invented _'dirty tricks'. Burkess was just another one of their dirty tricks and while he might have thought things were looking up right now, his long-term future was decidedly bleaker.

Gibbs knew that Burkess was living on borrowed time and eventually, once his usefulness had been used up, his chances of crossing a road without being the victim of an 'accidental' hit and run incident were slim at best.

But he also knew damn well that if Colby Granger found out about their 'arrangement' with the British, Burkess wouldn't be safe _anywhere_. The ex soldier would be furious_. _He would hunt him down to the ends of the earth in some misguided attempt to meet out justice. Colby was a good spy. A _damn _good spy. But he had one failing. He actually _believed _that everyone in the business was as honourable as he was. Colby's position within the FBI was yielding outstanding results, and the man could be depended upon to do virtually anything Gibbs asked of him. But Gibbs also knew that if the man's deep-seated sense of justice and honour was challenged, he could be a very dangerous adversary. And that is a situation Gibbs wanted to avoid. He knew full well that Colby would react _very _badly to finding out that Burkess had effectively got off what he would regard as Scott free…

Burkess nodded. "Just keep that maniac and his bitch of a girlfriend away from me. I'll do whatever you want. Just keep Granger off my back…"

Gibbs smiled nastily. "Oh, you'll do _exactly _what you're told to do, Walter." He leaned forward, the smile vanishing. "Or one day, one _fine _day, you may just run into an _old friend_, you understand?"

Gibbs didn't like double crossing Colby like this. But he swore to himself there and then that he would make it up to his friend. Somewhere along the line and when the time was right, he'd tell Colby the truth. He'd keep tabs on the traitor, know exactly where he was and once the British had finished with him, he'd make sure that it was Colby who had the pleasure of finally handing out _real _justice…

33333333

_Two weeks later…_

The sun was starting to set over a crystal clear Pacific ocean. A gentle onshore breeze blew warm air through the open windows and the white net drapes billowed like a ship's sails. From inside the beach house, the strains of Seasick Steve's perfect blues chords drifted gently out onto the steps. Diane Armstrong glanced up. Colby was heading back from the surf, a Fish 60 board tucked under one powerfully muscled arm.

The past two weeks had been uneventful. They'd spent several days in hospital recuperating from the battering they'd both taken. Don had insisted that Colby take a week's leave to recover fully. He had made it quite clear that he didn't want Colby back until he was 100% fit. For the first time ever Colby had complied without arguing the point. He didn't just need time to recover from his injuries. He needed time to come to terms with everything that had happened to him and the people he cared about.

The short bedside briefing Colby had received from the Director of the Bureau had been succinct and to the point. He'd read the file he'd been given, a look of utter disbelief on his face. He'd stumbled and muttered an embarrassed "Thank you," as the Director told him he was to be awarded the Medal of Meritorious Conduct for a second time. Don had been forced to turn away at that point to hide the broad smile that lit up his face. He was so proud of Colby, but he knew that the younger man regarded medals and awards as unnecessary. He'd once said to Don that he regarded decorations as "something you put on Christmas trees, buddy, not pin to some dumb son of a bitch's chest who's just managed to stay alive longer than everyone else." But he also knew that underneath that genuine embarrassment at all the fuss for him 'just doing his job', Colby felt a huge sense of pride at being honoured yet again. He didn't care what anyone else thought, but it did matter to him.

As Don had said, it was a fantastic opportunity and a well-deserved promotion. There would be further briefings once the new MIT team had been set up, but that could wait a few days.

Diane had kept what she had heard from Doug's telephone conversation to herself. Until she had further intelligence, she wasn't going to risk telling Colby of Doug's quiet conversation with Lawrence Gibbs in case they had been purposefully kept out of the loop for some reason. Spying was a game of secrets. She _hated _keeping anything from Colby, but they had both played the game long enough to know what the rules were. Doug would be arriving in LA in a few days time. Watch and listen. She didn't believe that Doug was a traitor, but something was going on in the background that their superiors didn't want them to know about. _The Game_ continued…

Diane pushed her doubts to the back of her mind, filing them for later. Right now, they had a precious moment of peace, which was a rare thing in their lives. She smiled to herself, watching Colby head up the beach, his feet leaving a trail of prints along the sand. As he got closer, his face split into a broad smile and he trotted up the wooden steps to the house, dropping the board on the veranda and sitting down next to her. He wound a wet arm around her shoulders and pulled her towards him, kissing her gently on the lips.

"Geroff, you daft bugger! You're all damp!"

"I've just been surfing! Of course I'm _damp_, you crazy woman!" Colby laughed and swamped Diane in a bearhug, ignoring her squeals and protestations and kissing her hard again. Finally, they broke the kiss and Diane carefully pushed his wet hair back from the side of Colby's left temple. Colby grinned at her. "Checkin' my head wound, baby?"

"What? No! I'm being affectionate, you oaf!"

"Yeah right! You're just making sure it's healing up okay, ain't ya?"

"Well, okay, yes. But only because you _insist _on doing everything the doctors told you _not _to, you stubborn bugger!"

"Oh, and you've been _so _good at following your doctor's advice, haven't you? Huh?" Colby laughed playfully.

"I didn't get bashed on the noggin, you pillock!"

"Baby, I had to get back in the water. You know that."

Diane looked serious for a moment. "I know, sweetie. You okay?" She stroked his wet hair gently, taking care not to touch the still-raw wound on his temple.

Colby shrugged. "Bit scary for a coupla minutes to start, but _hell yeah_ I'm okay!" He laughed, took the bottle of Bud from her fingers and gulped down a swig of beer.

"Hey! That's mine! Get yer own!"

"Don't wanna walk sand through the house, baby."

"It's a _beach_ house, Granger! It's _permanently_ sandy! I've got through three vacuum cleaners and blown the motor on my tumble drier because of the bloody sand! One of the joys of living next to a damn great beach with a prevailing westerly wind!"

Colby laughed again and took another swig of beer. "We got about half an hour before we lose the light. Wanna go for a dip?" He grinned broadly and nodded towards the breaking surf.

Diane grinned back. "Race ya!" She suddenly broke free of his embrace, snatched up the Fish and trotted down the steps to the beach.

Colby's eyes widened. "Hey! That's _my _board!" He put the beer down on the wooden decking and sprinted after Diane, enchanted by the sound of her playful laughter as it drifted across the sand.

As the sun set over the ocean, a sudden breeze sent a wave of cold air across the beach. On the horizon, a churning, black anvil head cloud held the promise of a dark storm gathering in the west. Clouds scuttled across the sky and there was the sharp tang of tin in the air as the storm clouds started to merge and pile up into a boiling mass.

Inside the beach house, Colby Granger's cell phone buzzed quietly, immediately going to voicemail. The call was from Lawrence Gibbs…

_**The end?**_

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_**Author's note: *Headdesk* Blimey! That was a bleedin' epic! Anyhoo, thanks have to go to everyone who has had the patience to stick with this monster of a story for so many months and have kept this poor, beleaguered hack going through some real, "bugger, I've painted myself RIGHT into a corner here" moments.**_

_**There will now be a short hiatus while I try to recover from chronic RSI thanks to the amount of typing I've done, but Season 4 – A Dangerous Game – will begin in a few weeks' time. What is that phone call about? Are those storm clouds a metaphor, or is it just me getting all poetic on your arses? Will Burkess make a return? Is any of this making sense? Watch this space…**_


End file.
